


Cursed

by Yeetmeaway



Series: Twisted: A Horror Romance Collection [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Body Horror Scenes, Caretaking, Curse Breaking, Dark Magic, Desperation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Post-Avengers (2012), Sick Steve Rogers, Touch-Starved, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29166867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeetmeaway/pseuds/Yeetmeaway
Summary: Six months after the battle of New York, a routine Avengers mission goes wrong after an encounter with the Enchantress. Natasha is private at the best of times, but she can no longer afford to be when it becomes clear that Steve has been cursed by dark magic. Reclusive and withdrawn, she is the last person she would've expected to help him, but she owes him a debt. As the curse begins to claim his body, Natasha can no longer hide her own darkness, nor can she deny the feelings that are growing within her heart.But if she and the Avengers can't find a way to help Steve break this spell, then she'll lose him forever.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Avengers Team, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Series: Twisted: A Horror Romance Collection [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2202336
Comments: 46
Kudos: 129





	1. Transform

Natasha ducked low beneath the feet of a massive T-Rex skeleton on display in the main hall of the New York Museum of Natural History, surveying the destroyed hall, evacuated of any civilians. Her teammates were busy managing the room full of copies of the same man— Skurge the Executioner, Thor had called him. But she wasn’t concerned with him, it was the Enchantress she was after. 

It was six months after the battle of New York when the Enchantress and Skurge suddenly appeared in search of an artifact, the Avengers were assembled and sent to deal with another “Thor problem”, as the team was now calling it. Natasha had had just about enough of invading Asgardians.

To her left, a massive hulking man spotted her and sprinted for her with a guttural cry, his axe held high overhead. She cursed and quickly darted away as his weapon smashed into the ground. Natasha whirled, aimed her pistol, and fired, and the man disappeared into smoke. She turned just in time to see him again, axe held high, before she dove out of the way and rolled to her feet. He was an obvious decoy for the missing Enchantress, and the longer she went undetected, the more nervous Natasha became. 

She ran for the exhibition rooms, evading any Skurges and leaving them for her teammates to handle. It’d be nice if they had the Hulk with them, but collateral damage was bad PR and the Hulk wouldn’t be concerned with trying to save the museum’s delicate thousand-year-old artifacts. A quick look down the hall revealed a pulsing green glow coming from the featured exhibit and she quickly checked her magazine. Only two rounds left. Natasha sighed and headed for the next room, a sharp metallic taste settling on her tongue. 

“Blast!” Thor cried over the comms, his hammer colliding with Skurge’s axe. She heard Stark’s repulsors in the background. 

“What’s scary witch lady doing?” Clint cried as he shot an arrow at the approaching doppelganger, which disappeared into smoke. “Anyone have eyes on her?” 

“Me,” Natasha said, firing her last two shots at another Skurge doppelganger as she vaulted over a tipped over display case to get closer to the Enchantress. She tossed it and withdrew her stun baton instead. “She’s in the Viking exhibit.” 

“Figures,” Clint muttered. 

“Don’t go nearer, Nat,” Stark called over the sounds of his repulsor blasts. “She’s throwing off all kinds of weird energy. My systems are going haywire.” 

Natasha ignored that particular advice and ran for the exhibit. The closer she got, the more the air became heavy and oppressive. As she rounded the corner, she stopped and ducked low behind the longship on display in the centre of the room. The Enchantress levitated, sparks of green and black energy crackled across her skin, casting an eerie glow in the room. The lights were dark, bulbs shattered under the immense pressure she generated. In her hand was a gold medallion, glowing a bright green. Natasha squinted, her vision shimmering and unfocused as she looked at the object. 

“We need to stop her,” Thor called, his voice booming through the comms. “This is dark magic, powerful enough to destroy the city if miscast.” 

“What do you see, Natasha?” Cap asked, voice calm and commanding. It cut through the chaos, settled her nerves. Natasha turned and spotted him dashing through a crowd of Skurges in the hallway, bashing them into smoke with his shield. He met her eyes from across the battlefield and she quickly looked away.

“She’s got some kind of amulet,” Natasha said. 

“It may be amplifying her abilities,” Thor said. “She means to destroy me before taking the throne in Asgard.” 

Natasha blew the flyaway hairs from her forehead. Ah yes, someone else who had beef with Thor and his family. “Jilted lover?” Tony teased and Natasha rolled her eyes. The irritated noise Thor made in response suggested Tony wasn’t far off the mark. 

When footsteps came up behind her, Natasha whirled, coming face to face with Steve, his eyes fixed on the Enchantress. He knelt beside her, adjusting his shield on his arm, expression focused and calculating. Part of her was always fascinated to see how he worked— he was sharp, efficient, and his plans played to each of their strengths. 

“Thor, we need you running point,” he said. “If she’s got…” he trailed off, looking for a more delicate way to phrase his sentence, “ _hi_ _story_ with you, then her anger might work in our favour. It looks like she needs to focus to use her power. You and I will draw her attention away while Natasha strikes from behind. Barton, I need you to take out that amulet. Stark, keep those Skurge clones busy.” 

“You got it, boss,” Stark said over the comms. 

Mjolnir flew in from the other room, and Enchantress raised her hand to block it with a shield of green energy. Her lips were moving, frantically casting magic, as she clutched the amulet tightly. Natasha shot Cap a quick nod before she quietly darted away, sticking to the shadows on the periphery of the fight while he and Thor charged in. Enchantress hissed, obviously furious with Thor’s presence, and rained down green bolts of energy on him and Cap. Natasha focused, gripping her baton as she weaved between exhibits to attack from behind. Enchantress's magic was pushed out in front of her like a shield, leaving her back exposed. 

She gave a sharp nod, signaling Clint, who she knew was watching, and his voice came over the comms, “I’m in position, go when ready, Nat.” 

She exploded forward, charging her baton until it crackled with enough energy to kill an average person. It wouldn’t be enough to kill an Asgardian, but it wouldn’t tickle either. Enchantress turned just in time to see Natasha leap from the shadows, her hands came up, glowing with energy, but Natasha swung hard and cracked her across the temple. The impact exploded between them in a concussive blast that broke whatever shield the Enchantress had had up. Natasha’s baton splintered apart, electric current and magic shot outward and they both cried out. In the split second where the Asgardian dropped her guard, Clint fired, his arrow shattering the amulet still clutched in her hand. The magic exploded in a bright burst, sending Natasha crashing backward and Enchantress collapsing to the floor.

Dazed, Natasha braced herself on her arms, but fell back with a cry, her left wrist unable to support her weight. She cradled her arm on her chest, trying to get her feet under her. Enchantress grovelled, scrabbling and groaning as she reached for the broken pieces of the amulet still shimmering in front of her. 

Thor stepped in, and she snatched up the pieces and drew back, scrambling away from him. She tried to speak her spell but struggled to get the words out as the thunder god paced toward her. “Enough, Amora!” Thor pleaded. “Stop this madness.” 

“False Prince,” she hissed, blood flecking from her mouth. “Throwing your lot in with Midgardian filth. I would’ve been your queen. We could’ve ruled all the nine realms!” 

Natasha sat up with a wince, her head spinning. As the Enchantress backed away, she caught sight of her reflection in the broken glass of a shattered display case and froze. A wild, primal scream tore from her and she whirled on Natasha with furious hatred. Her face had been marred in the blast— shards of amulet and Natasha’s baton were embedded in her mangled skin, and green veins spread like spiderwebs beneath her face. Clutching the broken shards of her amulet, she closed her hand hard enough to draw blood. “ _You!”_ She snarled, her eyes glowing green. 

Natasha scrambled to her feet, cradling her injured arm. There was a flurry of movement around her that she struggled to register. There was a blast of green light. A bitter, metallic taste filled her mouth, her skin prickled with a terrible pressure. There was no time to move, or breathe, or think. She shut her eyes, gritted her teeth, and braced for impact. The breath was knocked from her as she hit the ground hard, her head smacking into the tiled floor. Dazed, she tried to move, her body telling her to fight or flee, but something was crushing her and she squirmed to get free, her hands searching, eyes flying open only to find Cap on top of her. 

He was heavy and she struggled beneath him, her addled mind still preparing for another attack. Green shimmered under his skin for a moment before it faded. “Steve?” she asked, frightened. 

He seemed dazed, his body limp on top of her before he shook himself and promptly braced himself up on his arms. “Are you okay?” he asked. 

Natasha met his eyes, unsure of how to respond. Thor grabbed Enchantress Tony and Clint joining him, Skurge obviously defeated in the other room. Enchantress began to laugh as Cap got to his feet and helped Natasha to hers. 

Her laughter became hysterical, echoing throughout the darkened room as she watched them. “That was meant for you, girl. But I suppose this is just as fitting. You get to watch, now.”

“What did you do?” Thor asked, dangerously. 

“He is cursed,” she spat, voice dripping with malevolence. “I curse him to the darkness. I curse him to suffer. Let the darkness in his heart consume him and show you all what he truly is.” 

Everyone stared expectantly at Cap, who looked around from face to face, eyes wide with a look of mild concern. There was a beat where they all stood, not knowing what to do. Then, nothing happened. Tony stepped forward with a dry chuckle. “Yeah, you probably picked the wrong guy for that.” 

Enchantress bared her teeth into a sneer and wrested free from Thor’s grasp, blasting him backward with a bolt of green energy. She closed her fist, forcing the broken shards of amulet through her hand as she clutched it close to her chest. Green bolts flew from her skin, scattering like eruptions of magma before she disappeared with a flash. 

“Cool, good talk,” Tony drawled. “Let’s get takeout on the way back. Thor’s buying.” 

* * *

They reconvened at Stark Tower, newly branded as the Avengers Tower. It was easier to just stay there between jobs, especially when they were still on call. Enchantress and Skurge were at large, which meant they would all remain assembled until the threat was neutralized. 

On the medical floor, Natasha sat in her private partitioned bed, awaiting a SHIELD doctor’s appraisal of her arm. The numbness had subsided and now her wrist was killing her. She sighed, watching the ceiling as her teammates bickered in the main room. Steve went through several tests after the mission, which Natasha had the unfortunate privilege of overhearing as she had her wrist x-rayed and prodded. He was subjected to every medical evaluation and magical evaluation that Tony and Bruce, SHIELD doctors, and Thor could think to throw at him, but the only thing they discovered was a mild concussion. 

“I’m fine,“ Natasha overheard Steve insist. “I actually feel really, really good.” 

“You’ve got a concussion,” the SHIELD doctor said. “Which means I can’t clear you for duty until at least two days from now when your accelerated healing takes care of it.”

“What of any magical damage?” Thor asked, voice tinged with alarm. “What do your scans say?”

“That he’s completely fine otherwise,” the doctor said. “All vitals are normal, there are no other energy signatures to speak of—” 

“And Jarvis doesn’t detect anything wacky either,” Tony interrupted. “In a few days, you’ll be fit as a fiddle, right Cap?” 

“I’m fine right now,” he insisted. “I don’t feel concussed. I’m good to go.”

The doctor looking after her returned and Natasha gratefully turned her attention to her instead. Her wrist had sustained some minor injuries to the tendons from the force of the blast and she was ordered to take it easy for the next week before getting it reassessed. At least that meant she could go back to her own apartment, maybe after a day or two anyway. She hated being out of the loop for missions she was supposed to participate in. 

After her wrist was wrapped and her doctor left, Natasha shrugged on her jacket and bumped into Steve as he passed her bed on his way out. His face knit with displeasure, but he quickly wiped it away when he saw her. 

“What’s the verdict?” he said, gesturing to her wrapped arm. He was polite, friendly, but always all business. Part of her preferred it like that. This was a job, not a chance to get buddy-buddy with her colleagues. To her, Steve was a paragon of professionalism, affable, but completely unreachable. She liked him— he was the sort of man who inspired trust, but she liked him just as he was, a distant friend. He shared nothing about himself and was something of a recluse around the tower. Even on Tony’s “bonding nights” wherein he would put on an obnoxious movie for everyone to watch, Steve always sat on the fringes of their group, and never stayed for longer than was considered impolite. He hadn’t sat through a movie yet, but then again, neither had she. They both preferred to be alone. 

“I’ll live. But, I’m out for at least a week,” she said with a sigh. Steve just gave her a curt little nod, obviously still upset that he was being benched. “Sounds like you’re out, too,” she remarked. 

He pursed his lips and looked away. “Sorry you had to hear that.” 

She smiled. “Just glad you’re okay,” she said. 

Steve shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked like he wanted to say something, but when he met her eyes, he put on a little smile. “Thanks,” he said. 

* * *

It was raining that night when the call came to assemble— Skurge had reappeared in Manhattan, escaping from SHIELD captivity to wreak havoc as he searched for his missing Enchantress. It was late, approaching midnight as Natasha watched her teammates head for the hangar, staying out of their way as much as possible. She toyed with the zipper of her jacket, her injured wrist throbbing uselessly at her side. 

She frowned when Steve brushed past her, Captain America uniform on, ready to fight. “What’s the situation?” he asked.

Banner wrung his hands, obviously uncomfortable with confrontation. “Steve, you’ve gotta sit this one out,” he said, heeding the advice of the SHIELD doctor. 

“I feel fine,” Steve argued. 

“Mom says you’re not allowed,” Tony jibed, his faceplate sliding into place. Natasha wasn’t sure if he was referring to Fury or Bruce. His next words were modulated by his Iron Man suit. “You have to be careful in your old age. Don’t want you bonking your head and falling asleep on the job for another seventy years.” 

Steve looked visibly irritated by the remark. He clenched his jaw, eyes flinty and defiant. Natasha pursed her lips, preparing to retreat to her room rather than hear her teammates bickering again.

It was Thor who finally got him to stand down. “We’ll be alright, friend,” he said, clapping his massive hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Amora is wounded, her magic weakened and Skurge alone is no match for us. We will manage without you. Besides, you’re in good company.” 

Everyone shot a glance at Natasha, who shrugged and moved back a step. It was well-meaning, but she didn’t like scrutiny. When everyone looked at her, she felt the need to hide. Steve deflated, his shoulders sagging and Thor patted him again reassuringly before they turned to leave. 

“You kids don’t stay up too late,” Tony said.

The quinjet took off and the team was gone. Alone in the huge, emptiness of the Avengers Tower, Steve turned to face her. He had a look on his face that she couldn’t quite understand. They both stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment. Once again, it seemed like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know how. She didn’t know how either. This comfort thing wasn’t really her area of expertise. If it was for a mission, no problem, but when it was just her— the real her, standing in front of him, she clammed up. 

Steve pursed his lips and left without a word. In a way, Natasha was grateful. He set the tone for their interactions and she was happy to follow. She didn’t have to pretend with him. Silently, she returned to her room to get ready for bed. 

* * *

Natasha awoke with a sharp gasp, a metallic taste in her mouth. She shot out of bed, sweat prickling her hairline, a terrible unease settling over her. It was quiet, her wrist throbbing with the wild beat of her heart. Something felt very, very wrong. Hastily she reached into her night table and pulled out her gun, switching the safety off. 

“Jarvis?” She called out. Normally she hated Stark’s creepy AI, but when he didn’t respond, she got out of bed and headed for the door. She flicked the light switches, but nothing happened. The power was out, which seemed impossible when the building ran on reactor tech. She checked her phone next to find it completely dead. 

Ignoring the dread that was settling over her, Natasha quietly slipped from the room to find Steve. As much as she wanted to just leave and figure out what the hell was going on, she couldn’t just abandon him. Slipping soundlessly through the hallways, she headed down the stairwell to the floor below. As she entered his level, she paused. She could hear his radio on, soft music echoing down the darkened hall. The volume grew louder and softer in intervals. She rounded the corner and headed down the hallway, her palms prickling. The light in his room was still on, though it flickered like a power surge. She gripped her gun a little harder and headed closer. When she heard a pained moan tear from his room, she froze, her heart leaping into her throat.

Gripping her gun a little tighter, she pushed open his room door. The air was heavy with a strange pressure, the metallic taste in her mouth sharpened and she nearly gagged. Steve was kneeling on the floor, his body half on the bed. His skin glowed faintly, runes appearing and disappearing in the same green as Enchantress’s magic. The light in his room surged and flickered and he groaned, delirious, his arms flexing as he leaned over the bed and twisted his hands in the sheets. Natasha holstered her gun and went to him, tamping down the fear that threatened to undo her. 

“Steve?” she asked. 

His back was visibly swollen and Natasha touched him, only to find his skin fevered and burning through his shirt. He moaned, arching beneath her touch. Fear rose in her chest, spreading like wildfire through her. She needed to call for help, but with communications down, that would mean leaving him. She exhaled, trying to figure out her course of action when beneath her hands something shifted, pushing up along his shoulder blades. Natasha froze, her hands still on his back, unsure of what she just felt. 

Whatever it was moved again and Steve whimpered, his body twisting and writhing as he buried his face into the sheets. Slowly, Natasha lifted his shirt, peeling it from his body to reveal his back and her breath caught in her throat as she struggled to comprehend what she looked at. His skin was pulling taut, threatening to burst open as something appeared to try and push its way out from the inside. She froze in shock, her heart hammering in her ears. She didn’t know what to do. But she didn’t have time to think— Steve suddenly cried out, squirming in pain as thin, bony protrusions began to push through his tortured skin. When the hot stream of his blood wet her hands, she snapped back into focus. The skin above his right shoulder blade burst apart first and he screamed. A huge slash opened in his back as wet, tarry black shapes began to emerge. Whatever this was was tearing him open, ripping him apart. 

Panicked, Natasha leaned against him, throwing her body’s weight against the emerging growths. The pressure made him cry out, his eyes fluttering as he gasped and panted. Beneath her, the protrusion moved, sliding up between them. It was clear she couldn’t stop it, but she could try and keep it from flaying him open. 

“Stay with me,” she said as calmly as she could manage. 

Steve moaned, his skin burning up. A sickening, wet noise accompanied the sudden push of bone and black and he gave a ragged scream, struggling beneath her, his foot slipping in the blood dripping onto the floor. Natasha gritted her teeth and leaned hard, pushing the new growth down with her body and forcing it to slide up through the tear it had already made in his skin. She thought she could feel it coming to its end and brushed his sweaty hair from his forehead. 

“Nearly there,” she promised. It moved and she leaned hard and helped it slide from his body. 

There was a beat, an awful moment where Natasha just leaned on him, afraid to look at the thing trapped beneath her. She drew a deep breath, her hand on Steve’s shoulder, and moved off of him. Once freed, she was knocked back as the black mass suddenly unfurled. Natasha hit the ground with a cry, Steve’s blood spattered onto the walls, and floor. She blinked, feeling it trickle on her cheeks and forehead before she hastily swiped it away and scrambled to her knees. When she saw him, her breath caught in her throat. The protrusion of bone and black had opened into a dark wing. It lay limp and glistening on the floor, stretched across the room. 

Steve was turned toward her, eyes unseeing as he breathed, blood streaming down his back. But his relief was short-lived. He moaned weakly and buried his face into the sheets as the other wing began to push up from his skin. Natasha pushed herself to her feet, numbly rushing to his side to assist.

The second wing came out in the same way as the first. It broke him open, tore him apart, and she guided him through the painful, bloody process, careful to avoid standing behind it when it unfurled this time. When it was done, she sagged to the floor, her heart pounding in her ears. The air in the room was thick with the coppery scent of blood and sweat and magic. It clung to her skin and settled on the back of her tongue. Natasha swallowed hard, blinking away this numbness when Steve slid from the bed to kneel weakly on the floor, his head bowed, shirt still rucked up around his neck and shoulders, body trembling as the green runes on his skin faded. He seemed to come back to a slow kind of awareness, his chest heaving with deep, ragged breaths. 

“What’s… happening to me?” he panted, trembling. 

She didn’t know how to answer. She curled her shaking hands into fists, numbly kneeling with him on the floor. A trickle of blood crawled from her hairline to her temple and she hastily scrubbed it away. Their uneven breaths were the only sound between them. 

With a shuddering little breath, Steve reached up, fingers searching his upper back. When he grabbed a fistful of feathers, a ragged noise tore from his throat. The sound compelled Natasha to move— part of her was afraid he was hurting himself. She grasped his wrist and he jerked his head up to look at her, eyes wild with fear, mouth opened into a scream that refused to come out. 

Natasha squeezed his wrist, her lips parted in shock. This was the man who jumped on a dummy grenade without hesitation in training camp, the man who had single handedly liberated hundreds of soldiers, and crashed a plane full of explosives into the arctic. She had seen him fight, take on aliens invaders, Norse gods and everything in between without batting an eye. Fear wasn’t in his vocabulary, she had thought.

But Steve was _terrified_.

“What— what are these things?!” He cried. His voice was laced with hysteria, his breaths verging on hyperventilation. 

It took her a moment to find her voice. “Breathe,” she told him. He had to be okay. He was like a guiding star in this strange team dynamic. Despite his standoffishness and reclusivity, when he was okay, it made her feel safe enough to believe everything else would be. 

Steve searched her, perhaps seeing his terror reflected back in her expression. He took a deep breath and let go of his wing, his hand sticky with blood and feathers. They both stared at his hand for a moment before Natasha realized she still held his wrist and let go. “This… this must be Enchantress’s spell,” was the only explanation she could offer. 

He let out a shaky exhale, his eyes glazed over and frozen wide. She didn’t know what to do anymore. She didn’t know how to help him. This spell had been meant for her. It should be her going through this, not him. She pursed her lips, willing herself to stay strong. Her first order of business was taking care of him— she didn’t know what else might happen if the spell would change him further, but she could start with getting him comfortable and clean. After that, she would worry about leaving the tower to contact the team. 

“We’ll get you cleaned up first,” she said, her voice foreign in her ears. “Then we’ll contact the team.” 

Steve thrived on order, he was ex-military, after all. Her plan helped him focus, and he met her gaze, looking for guidance. Kneeling before her, wings stretched out behind him, expression lost and dazed, he looked like something out of a dream. This was all so unreal. 

Slowly, Natasha helped pull his head through his shirt, then gently rolled it down his arms. It was ruined with his blood and she tossed it unceremoniously to the ground. “Can you stand?” she asked. 

Steve gathered himself, pushing himself to stand on shaky legs. Natasha pulled his arm over her shoulders and wrapped her injured arm around his middle. Using her petite frame to stabilize him as much as possible, they took a step forward but he faltered and pinned her against the wall for a moment, leaning heavily against her. She paused, letting him rest until he could move again. She could feel the wild beat of his heart against her side, the burning heat of his bare skin through her clothes. 

“We’re going to get through this, Steve,” she told him. He just nodded numbly, his hand settling hesitantly on her waist. 

One faltering step at a time, they left the room, his dark, limp wings dragging behind them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: Thank you to thirdsister for the cover for this fic! You can check out their ao3 fics here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirdsister/pseuds/thirdsister


	2. Touch

The quarantine shower was meant for cleaning off the Hulk after particularly smashy missions. It was a massive, sterile tile and glass room outfitted with a few different showering heads, soaps, and brushes. The decontamination rooms were just outside, serving as a kind of storage and changing area. It reminded Natasha of a public pool locker room. The level was lit with bioluminescent cells, something Tony and Bruce had worked on after the Hulk had destroyed the lights on the entire area. This definitely felt like overkill, but it was the only place she could think of that would comfortably fit Steve’s… she let out a little breath. It felt strange to even think about. His wings. He had wings. 

She inspected herself in the mirror, hoping her choice of modest one-piece swimsuit wouldn’t make Steve too uncomfortable. After everything he had been through, that was the last thing she wanted. Getting him down here was a struggle. Steve’s presence ensured that the elevators weren’t running and she had to slowly guide him down ten levels, shaking and weak, his wings dragging a gruesome trail behind him. She tied her hair back into a ponytail and silently made her way to the huge shower room. 

Steve stood in the middle of the room, his dark wings unfurled and limp, black feathers stark against the white tiled floor. His back still looked inflamed and raw as he stood facing away from her, his head bowed slightly. One hand clutched the juncture between his shoulder and neck, the other his side. He looked small somehow. Alone. 

Natasha swallowed hard and made a conscious effort to scuff her feet when she entered so as not to startle him. When he glanced over his shoulder, she put on a tentative smile. 

“Let’s clean you up,” she said. 

Steve nodded and she set down her things to occupy herself with bringing down the wand attachment and turning on the water. A cold gush spurted from the showerhead and she waited until it warmed before she turned back to Steve. He hadn’t moved, watching her silently with his arms wrapped around his middle. It was strange to see him so outwardly withdrawn. Part of her wondered if this was an echo of who he used to be— she pictured him at a dance, awkward, shy, afraid to be looked at.

She shook the thought from her head, then noticed he was still wearing his bloody sweatpants and motioned to them. “Do you want to take those off?” she asked softly. 

He moved like she’d given him an order, unlacing the tie and hooking his thumbs into the waistband before he winced in pain, faltered, and then shyly flicked his gaze to her. Natasha silently went to him, her brow furrowed. He was likely in shock right now, just very good at hiding it. In retrospect, maybe this had always been the case with him. He exuded control and calm, but underneath he was struggling.

“You can leave them on,” she said apologetically. “I didn’t mean…” 

“No, I want them off,” he said, his hands curled into fists. 

She appraised him for a moment, tilting her head to the side. “Sure.” 

His back was likely still too painful for him to move freely. Gently, she took his hands and placed them on her shoulders for balance while she stripped him of his bloody clothes. His thumb brushed the curve of her neck, palm warm and broad as he held onto her. Natasha ignored the shiver that threatened to consume her. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his pants and worked the material down over his hips. Steve stepped out of his sweats, using her for support until he was left standing in just his black boxer briefs. He looked a bit unsteady, hands still on her shoulders. 

“Maybe you should sit,” she said. 

He nodded, not quite meeting her eyes and she eased him down to the floor, trying to support him as much as possible. Natasha knelt behind him as he sat stiffly on the hard tile. She stared at the points on his shoulder blades where his wings started, eyes tracing the ragged skin with a sense of helplessness. The feathers were sticky with blood, dull and black. Guilt threatened to drag her down again and Natasha shook herself and turned on the water, rising the skin between his shoulder blades first. He arched a little but stayed silent. As she worked, there was a tension between her and Steve, neither willing to acknowledge the two dark, feathery elephants in the room. She had avoided touching his wings at all so far, though she knew it was inevitable.

Hesitantly, she reached out and touched the one on the right, tracing along the bend of the wing. She flinched and quickly withdrew, fingers hovering over the dark feathers. It was softer than she thought it’d be. They both let out a little breath and Steve glanced at her from over his shoulder, his eyes filled with uncertainty. 

“Did you feel that?” she asked, a little breathless. 

Steve nodded, expression grim. “Yeah,” he said. 

She didn’t know if that was a good sign or not. It meant he was developing nerve endings, that these things were becoming a part of him. She chewed her lip and silently eased the wing up so she could wash it. “You let me know if it’s too hot,” she said. He just nodded and she felt compelled to add, “Or if I brush them too hard, or… if I’m hurting you.” 

Steve just nodded again, his head bowing forward. She washed each part, gently moving feathers to wash under them, brushing them down, smoothing over the newly constructed ridges of bone, and glancing at him nervously after every touch, afraid that this was painful somehow. Steve didn’t move or make any indication of how this was affecting him. Natasha just stayed focused, watching his blood swirl across the tile in rusty red streams. 

Once the backside was finished, she moved to wash the front, leaning against him a little as she directed the stream of water onto his feathers again. When she ran her thumb along the matted feathers by his shoulder, Steve made a little sound and Natasha whipped to look at him. The back of his hair was wet, beads of water clung to his shoulders and streaked down his chest as he kept his gaze straight ahead, expression neutral. “Am I hurting you?” she asked, pulling away. 

Steve shook his head and shot her a glance. “No,” he said. Natasha held his gaze, not convinced and he looked away. “It feels a bit strange is all,” he relented. A frown crossed her face and Steve smiled wryly like he was trying to make light of all of this. “It’s sort of like having my hair washed.” 

Natasha returned his smile with a careful one of her own. “That can feel nice,” she said, more for herself than for him.

Steve hummed in agreement, turning his head away to hide his expression from her. She couldn’t tell how he felt about it, so she focused on finishing. Carefully, she traced along the bend of his wing, fingers gently massaging the feathers nearest his back to wash the blood out. It became strangely relaxing, the feel of hard ridges and soft feathers, the heat of Steve’s body as she leaned against him. At some point, he sagged a little as she worked, catching himself when his head drooped forward. The room was warm and steamy and when Natasha looked over at him, he seemed exhausted. It was beyond late, and his body was likely in overdrive trying to heal around these new additions. Physiologically, she didn’t know how it impacted him. Or psychologically, for that matter. The rest of the team couldn’t get back here soon enough. 

She startled when Steve rested his head on her shoulder briefly, snapping her from her thoughts. His hair was soft on her bare skin, his breath hot as it ghosted down her chest. Goosebumps rippled across her skin and she flinched. Immediately, he sat bolt upright, his posture rigid, cheeks tinted pink. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

She wasn’t sure how to respond. Steve never struck her as the touchy-feely sort, and neither was she. She had been so focused on completing single-minded tasks that it hadn’t occurred to her how close they really were. She was kneeling by his side, her injured arm resting on his shoulder, her free hand curled in his dark feathers, leg pressed against his. Flustered, Natasha met his eyes— they were a beautiful shade of blue, like wildflowers. A bead of water clung to his forehead, and she watched it run down his cheek before slipping over his full lips. She turned away. 

“It’s alright,” she said softly, refocusing on rinsing off the dark feathers. The contact wasn’t… unwelcome, but it was a distraction. They were colleagues, tentative friends, and she liked it like that.

When the water ran clear, Natasha turned it off and stood, taking the remains of Steve’s bloody clothes and getting a towel from the foyer. Steve got up, looking a little lost, his wings listless and dripping on the tile. She eyed him for a moment, studying the black, glistening feathers. 

“Can you move them?” she asked. 

He swallowed hard, staring at the dark feathers gathered at his feet. A look of determination crossed his face and his wings shifted. Immediately he faltered, and Natasha took a step closer, panicked. “Sorry,” he said softly, holding up his hand to let her know he was okay. “This is… this is so weird. It’s like moving a limb that’s gone to sleep.”

She smiled weakly at that and he focused. His wings came outstretched behind him, fully opening into a large, elegant pair of raven wings. The sight stole her breath away. He was like an angel, an ancient god, a fairytale creature from long ago. Tears burned her eyes, but she couldn’t look away. It was as though reality finally caught up with her. This was really happening. _He is c_ _ursed,_ Enchantress’s words echoed in her mind. _You get to watch._ Fear consumed her, turning her blood to ice— fear for him, for what this meant. 

Steve shook out his wings, flinging water everywhere before folding them clumsily behind his back like he wasn’t sure how to move them, or where they were meant to fit. 

She blinked, clearing her throat before she tossed him a towel. “There are some dry clothes in the foyer,” she said. “You let me know if you need a hand with anything.” 

Steve clenched his jaw, becoming a bit reserved. “I’ll be fine,” he said stiffly. She frowned, unsure of what to do to help. Then he shook himself and turned on a little smile. “Thanks, Natasha. I mean it. Thank you.” 

She paused for a moment. He was clearly not okay, but the best she could give him was space and kindness. “I’ll be in the other room,” she said. 

Natasha left him, heading back out to the decontamination room. She got dressed in silence, pulling on black sweats and a tank top with mechanical efficiency as she kept an ear out for any signs of Steve in distress. When she heard clattering from the stairwell, she snapped to attention, grabbing her gun and pointing it at the door just as Tony, Thor, and Clint burst into the room, weapons raised. Natasha sighed in relief and lowered her weapon. 

Her teammates seemed relieved to see her as well, though a bit shellshocked. Thor was tensed, lighting crackling over his body, and Clint visibly upset, his eyes wide with alarm. 

“Romanoff, what the hell!” Stark blurted. “We came back when JARVIS alerted me that the tower was completely down. You and Cap were missing, and the whole place was dark except Steve’s room which looks like a goddamn horror show—” 

“We followed the blood trail down here,” Clint interjected. 

Natasha didn’t know how to answer. She was just as in the dark as he was. “Enchantress’s spell,” she said. “I… Steve…” 

“Where is he, Natasha?” Thor asked, his voice eerily steady. 

“Here,” Steve said, coming out of the quarantine shower. He was standing in the doorway, illuminated by the light of the room behind him, shirtless and in a clean pair of dark sweats, wings resting behind his back. There was a collective shocked silence at the sight of him, the air suddenly thick with tension. Steve dropped his gaze to his feet, his hands curled loosely at his sides. 

Thor broke the silence first. “Allfather’s beard,” he said softly, stepping a little closer. “Steve—” 

He raised his chin, jaw clenched tightly. “Is this reversible?” he asked. 

The thunder god swallowed hard, unable to meet his eyes. “In truth, I don’t know. This magic is far beyond my scope of understanding. It is darkness manifest, a curse.”

Thor was interrupted when Tony suddenly ejected himself from the suit, stumbling out with a look of terrible fear. “The suit just shut down,” he said. “My display was going absolutely nuts. Steve’s throwing off all kinds of crazy energy signatures. You’re like… some kind of walking EMP.” 

“Aye,” Thor nodded grimly. “This is what I mean, darkness manifested, powerful magic.” 

“But what _does_ that mean?” Steve asked, an edge to his voice. He stalked into the room, expression livid. “Darkness manifested? I have fucking wings growing out of my back!” 

The lights flickered, Tony's Iron Man suit surged and glowed before a bulb overhead exploded. His words echoed in the room and Natasha jumped in surprise. She’d never seen him so angry. These were shades of him she had never seen before— that _none_ of them had ever seen before. He never lost his temper, never showed when he was angry beyond mild frustration and annoyance. It was as if the air had been sucked from the room. 

Thor ducked his head, his grip tight on Mjolnir. “I must consult with my mother,” he said quietly. “She would know.”

Steve clenched his jaw, his hands curled into tight fists. He stood in stony silence for a moment before he slipped on a mask of calm geniality. “Right. Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to lose my temper.” 

Nobody spoke. Nobody knew what to say. Steve turned from his teammates, brushing past Natasha as he left the room. When he was gone, the lights flickered back to life, blinking a bright strobe in the silence of the room. Natasha met the horrified expressions of the other Avengers for a moment before she couldn’t take it anymore. 

She left without a word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! lol. 
> 
> This was a concept I had in mind for a while. The good people of Twitter voted, and so you get this creepy weird horror romance story! My absolute dream story! (they had no idea what they were voting for haha). 
> 
> I was going to post this as one long piece, but it's still only about 95% complete, so you get 2 chapters for Valentine's Day, and I'll be updating it in the next week or so. It'll probably have about 4-5 parts in total. Enjoy!
> 
> ETA: Thank you to thirdsister for the cool banners! Check out their profile on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirdsister/pseuds/thirdsister


	3. Take

After the impromptu team meeting in the quarantine shower, Thor immediately left for Asgard in search of answers. Now it was a matter of waiting and each day that passed gnawed at Natasha. A heaviness was settling on the Avenger’s Tower that frayed her nerves, though she did her best to never let it show. She felt useless and mostly just tried to stay out of the way. 

Bruce and Tony were going over every possible angle that they could think of to help Steve. They struggled to put him through testing when he deactivated every electronic device in the room, but they were able to take some x-rays and collect data on his physical condition with the help of the SHIELD doctors. So far, surgically removing the wings was the prevailing option. But their test removal of some of the feathers always yielded the same result— they grew back within hours. 

After that, Steve mostly kept to himself. He was a recluse around the tower at the best of times, but now he was like a ghost. Natasha hardly saw him at all in the five days since his wings came in, though it wasn’t like she was going out of her way to find him. What help would she be if she did? This was way beyond her capabilities and the feeling of guilt and helplessness whenever she saw him ate her alive. It was better to keep to herself, she reasoned. Steve didn’t need her. 

Feeling antsy, Natasha dressed in her workout gear— a tank top and leggings, and slipped down to the training level. Her wrist still wasn’t fully healed, and her doctor would kill her if she knew she was about to work out, but she couldn’t take the waiting anymore. 

Taking the stairs two at a time, she headed down five floors to the gym. The doors waited like a beacon at the end of the hall. She could imagine the comforting feel of her fist connecting with the punching bag and nearly ran the rest of the way there. 

When she threw the door open, her excitement quickly evaporated. She had intended to be alone, but she wasn’t so lucky today. Steve was at the punching bag, throwing punishing jabs and crosses. He had been here for a while, by the looks of it. Sweat shone on his forehead, glistening on his powerful arms and naked torso. That was the challenge of having wings, she supposed. There were no shirts that fit him anymore. His hair was disheveled and falling across his forehead as he panted and worked the bag, dark wings folded tightly behind him, pressing against his back as firmly as he could manage. They were different than she remembered— fuller, more lustrous. She hoped it was only her imagination, but they seemed to have grown. 

Before she had a chance to leave, Steve spotted her and she immediately dropped her gaze to the floor before she turned on a friendly smile. “Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t know anyone was in here.” 

Steve huffed a breath, watching her as he held the boxing bag in place. His face was flushed, lips parted and pink. He nodded, expression neutral, though Natasha could tell he was frustrated she had interrupted. He wiped his cheek with his wrap, turning his attention to the bag he had set down on the floor a few feet away. “I was just leaving anyway,” he said. 

She frowned and sauntered into the gym. “Don’t leave on my account,” she said. 

He glanced at her, his fingers paused on the wrap on his right hand. He considered it for a moment, clearly not wanting to stop boxing and Natasha quietly made her way to the corner furthest from him to the free-standing punching bags. If she left now, it would be clear she was avoiding him. She put on her wrap gloves, pointedly not looking at him as she did them up tightly. She could feel his eyes on her from across the room, and she felt a flush threaten to creep across her skin. 

Ignoring him, she began her workout instead, keeping her injured wrist tucked close to her body. Eventually, she heard him return to his punching bag, choosing to stay. Something about that comforted her in a way. If he had left, she would’ve felt even more guilty. She didn’t want to deprive him of the few comforts he had. 

They worked in silence, their uneven breaths and hardworking fists the only sound in the room. There was a comfort in this, she realized. A strange safety, a familiarity that could never be expressed. What could words say that her presence couldn’t? It was as if they were in their own world, just the two of them, alone but together. Maybe that’s what she wished she could tell him. That she was here, that she cared.

She panted, slamming her fist into the bag with brutal efficiency. She never was one for words. 

It was an hour by Natasha’s estimate that they spent working in silence. By the end, her legs were wobbly, her good arm felt like overcooked pasta. This was the kind of catharsis she had needed so desperately. It felt good. Behind her, Steve had stopped. The sound of his fists hitting the back no longer echoed after her own. She got in a few more hits, trying to think of something to say to him. Part of her hoped he would be better somehow, more open and forthcoming. She stopped, leaning on the bag a little. It was a ridiculous notion. Who was she to think she could fix this? 

Plastering a smile on her face, she turned, cheeks flushed, sweat dripping down her forehead to find Steve watching her. It was the briefest of looks, but she was struck by the strange depth behind his eyes. There was something hungry about him— a bottomless ache that roused a part of her she was not prepared to explore. It made her pause, her mouth suddenly dry. 

“Captain Rogers,” JARVIS’s disembodied voice filled the room. Natasha flinched and hastily began to put her things away. “Thor has returned from Asgard.” 

He was silent for a moment. “I’ll be right there,” he said. 

As much as she hated the AI, she was grateful for the interruption. “So creepy,” she mumbled, shooting a glance at Steve. Whatever had possessed him before seemed to have subsided. He gave her a hesitant little smile as he began to undo the wraps around his hands. 

“When I spent my first night here, I damn near jumped out of my skin when that thing started talking.” 

Natasha smiled, shouldering her bag as she headed for the door, Steve falling behind her. “I don’t think I can get over it,” she said. “It’s very _1984._ ” 

“I haven’t read that one yet,” Steve said. “But I…” 

He trailed off, and Natasha frowned and turned to look at him. He had taken his wrap off and was staring at his hand with a blank expression. The sight immediately made her anxious and before she knew it, she was at his side. The skin on all his fingers had turned an inky black, starting under his fingernails and spreading down to his palm like a stain. Steve curled his hand into a fist and dropped it to his side with a bitter little smile. 

“Steve…” she said. She wished she didn’t sound so afraid. 

He couldn’t look at her. It was as if he didn’t know how to. The connection she had felt earlier disappeared. She’d never felt so disconnected from a person. He was walled off from her, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be closer. She liked what she had with him, it was comfortable, easy. Her own walls weren’t ready to come down, either. 

“It’s fine,” he finally said. “Let's just see what Thor has to say.” 

* * *

It was easy to forget that Thor was a prince sometimes, but there was no mistaking the woman next to him was a queen. She seemed out of place in the lounge room on the top floor of the Avenger’s Tower with everyone except Thor seated on couches. She was tall and elegant, her oval face intelligent, pale skin marked with smile lines and crow's feet. Her sandy blond hair was done in intricate braids beset with gems and glittering metals, and she wore a regal dress made of material Natasha had never seen before. Her eyes were kind, wise, and blue just like Thor's. But she stood with her hands delicately clasped in front of her, exuding an air of power that immediately reminded Natasha of Loki and she eyed the queen suspiciously. 

Beside her, Steve stopped, obviously embarrassed to be so underdressed and disheveled in her presence. They had come directly from the gym, expecting to see their teammates, not Asgardian royalty. He ducked his head sheepishly and tucked his blackened hand carefully by his side, the dark skin hidden from view. 

“This is my mother, Frigga,” Thor said softly. His affection for her was obvious. “She wanted to see Amora’s curse for herself.”

“And she’s not really here!” Tony interjected, leaning forward from his perch on the armrest of the couch. “I say it’s a hologram, but she said it’s magic.”

“It is an illusion, yes,” Frigga said, her eyes never leaving Steve. She stepped toward him while the rest of the Avengers began to argue over whether or not magic or science was involved in Frigga’s “interstellar conference call” as Clint put it. 

Natasha quietly moved away as the Asgardian queen approached, wanting to give Steve some space. But she couldn’t bring herself to stray very far. Maybe it was just her suspicious nature. She made herself look busy with her gym bag and listened, watching them from the corner of her eye.

“Ma’am,” Steve said politely, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. 

Frigga regarded him for a moment, her head tilted to the side, her kind eyes searching him with an air of sadness. Then she reached up, her shimmering hand cupping his face and Steve finally met her eyes. She gave him a gentle, motherly smile. “Oh my dear,” she said softly. “What has she done to you?”

Natasha saw his mask slip for a moment. He blinked, exhaling softly, his brows knitting together in a troubled expression. She was surprised when he shyly offered his blackened hand, showing Frigga his inky palm and fingers like a guilty child standing before his mother. She looked at it gravely, her hand moving to trace over the marked skin and his fingers curled, perhaps instinctively looking for contact, but went right through her instead. She wasn’t really there. 

Frigga smiled apologetically and Steve closed his hand into a tight fist and swallowed hard, his gaze falling back to the floor. 

  
  
“Amora was my student,” Frigga said, turning back to the others. Immediately everyone dropped their conversation and listened. “This curse is a mockery to me and the throne of Asgard. It is a transformative spell that draws out the victim’s personal darkness, manifests it into shapes, and distorts the body.”

“How do we break it?” Thor asked. 

“ _We_ do not,” Frigga said. “It must be Steve. Not even I can change this magic once it has been cast.” She turned to Steve, her eyes imploring. “This curse feeds on your pain, your innermost insecurities. Fear, anger, grief, envy… Only you know what that means and only you know what is needed to overcome this.” 

The room went quiet as everyone shifted to look at him. He moved his blackened hand to his side again. “And if I can’t break it?” he asked softly. 

Natasha shot him a wide-eyed stare. They had to prepare for every possibility, she reasoned, but his words frightened her. _If he couldn’t_ … it didn’t seem like an option. She had been confident that they would get through this, that Thor would return with a solution, but now that hope was quickly fading. 

Frigga clasped her hands in front of her again, her lips pursed for a moment before she delivered the grim news. “If you can’t, then this darkness will consume you. It will steal your body and mind, take your senses and reasoning until you are transformed into nothing more than a mindless beast.”

The silence in the room was deafening. Natasha could hardly breathe as she looked to Steve for guidance, for assurance that he could beat this, but she found nothing. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

The queen nodded and gave Natasha a brief look. _Help him_ , her eyes seemed to say. “I will do all I can in Asgard,” she said before turning back to Thor. From the look on the thunder god’s face, Natasha could tell she was imploring him to do the same. Though this curse had to be broken by Steve, it seemed as though Frigga knew he couldn’t do it alone. 

Thor cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “Thank you, mother,” he said. She shimmered and faded, leaving them all in silence once more.

Bruce broke the uncomfortable stillness first. “It could help to talk about it,” he mused. “With a therapist, of course.” 

“Aye, or perhaps a few rounds in your Midgardian taverns with friends,” Thor suggested. “Or… colleagues," he amended.” 

“Or maybe Cap just needs a de-stressor. Like yoga, or running or… he could get a dog,” Clint offered. 

Steve moved back a step, expression stony. “Is it about a girl?” Tony asked. He got up from the couch, deep in thought. “Dad said you had a sweetheart back in the day…” he snapped his fingers when he finally recalled the name “Carter!” 

Steve slammed his fist into the wall, punching clear through the gyprock into the insulation beneath. The lights flickered, the air becoming heavy with the taste of ozone. Without a word, he turned and left the room. 

* * *

Everyone left Steve alone for the rest of the evening. It occurred to Natasha that none of them were equipped to handle this. They were all embroiled in their own personal traumas, each of them broken in their own way. It was a mistake to think that Steve was any different, that he was somehow immune to the darkness that dragged each of them down by virtue of being one of the best, most honest men that she personally knew. 

After showering and sitting alone in her room, she couldn’t help the awful feeling settling over her. This was all her fault. If only she’d moved a little faster, been less dazed and disoriented, he wouldn’t have felt the need to intervene and save her. She sighed and inspected her injured wrist, running her fingers over the tensor bandage it was wrapped in. How did she go about helping him? She didn’t even know where to begin. 

She chewed her lip and glanced at her clock, blinking back the time at her. Close to midnight now. She sighed and stared at her feet. He had looked at her so desperately today. It was just a brief moment, but she couldn’t shake it. He seemed so empty, so lost. And now he was alone again. _Help him_. The thought echoed in her head. She wasn’t sure what she was doing when she left her room and slipped down the stairwell. She _definitely_ didn’t know what she was doing when she found herself standing outside of his bedroom door, hand paused as if she might knock. 

What if this was making it worse? What if he was stifled by all of them, that he secretly just wanted to work in peace and be alone and that was why the curse was worsening? What if he couldn’t stand any of them? A couple of ex-assassins, a former weapons dealer, a fallen prince, and a mad scientist— were these truly the people he wanted to associate with? She should leave, she should just mind her own business and— her hand moved and she knocked on his door. 

Silence.

She knew she shouldn’t let that bother her, but she couldn’t help it. Maybe now wasn’t the time to be alone. Natasha frowned and entered anyway. 

His room had been deep cleaned, all traces of the gruesome night his wings grew in were erased. It was much bigger than he liked, clearly. All of his furniture was positioned close to his bed, the rest of the large room oddly empty. She imagined he had lived in something much smaller all his life. It was hard to shake those preferences. He had a desk with nothing on it, a night table next to his bed, and a wardrobe. The room was lit with the same bioluminescent cells as the quarantine shower. They glowed a soft yellow, casting everything in dreamy, gauzy light. She closed the door behind her as Steve came out of the ensuite bathroom, expression livid.

When he saw it was her, he pursed his lips, taking a moment to collect himself before he spoke. “What do you want?” he asked bitterly. “Here to add your two cents? Come to pry into my life?”

Natasha shook her head. “You know me better than that, I hope.” 

He stared at her for a moment, still looking for a fight that she wouldn’t give him. “Then why are you here?”

She tilted her head to the side and shrugged. A good question— one that she wasn’t sure she had an answer for. Steve was silent for a minute, stewing in his anger as he watched her until he looked away, his hand coming up to clutch his neck. She watched as he massaged the muscle between his neck and shoulder, expression tense. 

“Are you in pain?” she asked softly. 

“I’m fine,” he said, dropping his hand. 

_Now_ she’d fight him. “I don’t think that’s true.” 

He turned on her, eyes bright with rage. “Stop it! Just _stop_ ,” he spat. The more he got worked up, the more his wings came unfurled from their rigid place behind his back. “I don’t want to talk! I don’t want to justify anything to you or anybody else! I said I’m fine, so I’m fine. Now get out and leave me the _hell_ alone!” 

She stood in silence, appraising him quietly. She had been prepared for this response, she supposed. “Is that what you want?” she asked. “To be alone?” If he told her yes, then she’d leave immediately. But he froze as if she’d struck him, his anger immediately evaporating and Natasha sighed and softened her tone. “Look, I didn’t come here to talk or pry into your life. I guess… I guess I just came to see how you were.” 

He clutched his neck again, expression remorseful. He looked so tired like he was barely hanging on. Clearly, he was in pain but refused to ask for help. That was the thing about him, she was finding, he refused to be a burden, even at the expense of his own health. 

“Will you let me help you?” she asked, stepping closer. 

He exhaled sharply, his lips pursed into a tight line. “You don’t owe me anything, Romanoff.” 

Her gaze drifted to his dark wings and, hesitantly, she reached out to stroke the soft feathers. They were delicate, silky beneath her fingers. Immediately, Steve dropped his gaze to her hand. 

“I think I do,” she said softly. 

He swallowed hard, standing frozen before her. She waited for permission, for something he would never outright give. But, to her surprise, he timidly pressed his wing into her hand, his gaze steadily held on the floor. Perhaps this is what permission looked like for him. He allowed himself to be touched. She traced up along the ridges of his feathers, fingers skimming to the bend of his wing to follow it to his shoulder. 

Her hand smoothed along his skin, taking in the thick, powerful muscle that flexed and shifted under her touch. He was warm, alive beneath her hand. Steve loosed a soft breath, keeping his eyes still glued to the floor. She watched him for a moment, taking in his response before she trailed along his shoulder, stepping behind him to access the planes of his back. He was beautiful— broad shoulders tapered into a hard, narrow waist, jet black feathers joined to his shoulder blades like they had always been a part of him. He relaxed his wings a bit, unfolding them to give her better access to him. Fascinated, Natasha watched herself trace down his spine, her hands spreading outward to touch the place his wings joined with his back. 

He flinched, a soft noise escaping from him and Natasha withdrew. “Does that hurt?” 

Steve straightened up to stand a little taller, “No,” he hesitated. “It… feels good.” 

She dropped her gaze, admonishing herself for admiring him so openly. That wasn’t why she was here. Far from it. “Why don’t you sit?” she asked. 

She was surprised when he did, silently moving to sit cross-legged on the floor at her feet. She joined him there, kneeling behind him. She inhaled and brought her hands back to the base of his wings, his feathers brushing her forearms as she slid her hands along his shoulder blades. Slowly, she pressed her fingers into the muscle around his wings and he shuddered. The added weight and change in musculature had resulted in knots upon knots in his back. Starting just beneath his wings, she slowly began to knead the tense muscle of his back in hard, circular motions. Steve drew a breath, his head tipping back slightly as he began to relax.

As she worked the muscle around his wings loose, Natasha skimmed up, her fingertips following along his spine to his shoulders where she found another knot and pressed. This time, Steve sighed, and she leaned forward to gain more leverage. He was wound so tightly, she had to wonder why nobody thought to give him a massage after being frozen in the same position for seventy years. 

She worked up his shoulders to the nape of his neck, her thumbs sweeping along the curve of muscle between his shoulder and the base of his neck. Another small sound slipped from him, and she focused on kneading that spot. He covered his mouth to keep himself from making more as she massaged the hard knots from his shoulders. As they loosened, he sagged a little, his back pressing against her chest. Natasha shifted and kept going, tracing her fingertips along the sweeping curve of his neck up to the base of his skull. He leaned his head back into her touch, and Natasha hesitated before her hands delved into his golden hair, fingernails gently raking over his scalp. Steve breathed evenly through his nose, goosebumps racing across his skin. Natasha pressed his head against her shoulder, fingers combing through his hair as she moved to massage his temples. 

From this position, he couldn’t hide his expression from her. His brow knit together, a troubled expression taking over his face. His breaths became shorter, less controlled and Natasha had the sense that he was breaking. She was watching him unravel before her very eyes. Part of her wanted to stop, to give him the chance to save face, but her hands kept touching. She gently smoothed the crease between his brow and Steve looked up at her, eyes half-open, jaw clenched shut. There was such a sense of vulnerability to him, a strange need that she could not place. Natasha traced over the length of his nose, following it to the groove above his upper lip. His lips parted like a reflex, his shaky breaths hot against her palm and wrist. Slowly, she brushed her thumb over his full bottom lip, savouring the feel of him, the petal softness of his lips. His breath hitched and she continued down over his chin to trace his throat. He swallowed hard, and she felt the bob of his throat, her thumb curving over the shape of his Adam's apple to sweep lower. She mapped his chest— the hard dip of his collarbone, the broad expanse of his pectoral muscles, the way he shivered when she touched him. He leaned heavily into her, and the change in weight made her reposition herself. Her hand accidentally slipped lower, fingers brushing the skin above his navel, and his belly flinched. 

Her chest tightened as if he’d found some answering chord within her. This had gone far beyond helping him. She felt him turn and looked down at him, her apology dying on her lips. His eyes were closed, brows knit into a pleading expression. Her lips parted, and she reached up to smooth his hair from his forehead. He turned into her shoulder and she held him there. She hated to see him like this— vulnerable, wounded, _human._ It didn’t track with the mental portrait she had made of him. In her mind, he was infallible, fearless. Part of her knew that wasn’t really the truth, but it had been easier to think of him as such. If he was more than a man, that made him unreachable, completely out of her grasp. It was easier to believe that she and Steve walked in different spheres, that he was above her, some morally righteous, shining example of heroism. It made it easier to bury that she felt anything for him. Maybe he preferred to put on that front, to be Captain America and everything that entailed.

She smoothed her thumb over his cheek, imagining she was uncovering the man beneath that veneer. As she traced along the high ridges of his cheekbone, Steve’s eyes slid open to look up at her. He seemed desperate somehow, scared of whatever this was and she was struck by the awful idea that he’d never been this intimate with anyone before. She paused, staring deeply into his eyes. Had he ever had a soft touch in his life? 

The notion unlocked something within her, a secret kindness, a desire to right that terrible wrong. Without thinking, she leaned down and pressed a kiss on his forehead, wishing she could erase whatever pain gripped him. His breath was hot against her neck as he shuddered a gasping sob before he sat up suddenly, springing to his feet like he’d been burned. 

His absence broke whatever spell had transfixed her and she quickly turned her gaze to her hands. What was she thinking, touching him like that? She got to her feet, flustered and ashamed. He faced away from her, his hand covering his mouth. It was deadly silent in the room, and Natasha could barely think over the wild beat of her heart.

“I—” she could barely justify herself. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.” 

She moved to brush past him, but his wing shot out and stopped her. He turned on her, and she had no idea how to read his expression. There was something deep in his eyes— that same bottomless ache, that awful need that she didn’t understand. That look pinned her, made her unable to breathe. Her lips parted, her heart leaping into her throat as she waited for him to say something, to snap, to break, to yell and scream... Steve suddenly captured her face in his hands and pulled her in to kiss her hard.

Her mind reeled as it struggled to keep up with her body. He kissed her without technique or finesse or regard for anything but keeping his lips on hers. There was no romance or preamble or shyness. He just _wanted._

Natasha clung to him, consumed with a singular thought that she had never dared to admit to herself until this very moment. She wanted this. She wanted him. 

Standing on her toes, she kissed him back. It was a shock to be wanted so desperately, to feel as though she were safe harbour for a man lost in a sea of darkness, trapped in a prison of his own design. Her hands tangled in his hair and slipped down the back of his neck in a fierce need to give him what he wanted, to kiss him, consume him the way he did her. 

His mouth captured hers and in his kiss, she could feel every ounce of longing, desperation, desire for closeness, contact, meaning, _anything._ Heat unfurled within her, racing through her body. Never in her life had she been kissed like this. A breathless little noise escaped her when he suddenly picked her up and carried her back five desperate steps to the desk. He pushed her onto it and she cried out in surprise before he kissed her again, his body hot and powerful against hers as he pressed between her legs. One of his wings moved to cradle her upper back in a delicious rush of feathers. His grip on her was almost painful, arms locked around her waist, fists clenched in her shirt. 

Overwhelmed, Natasha broke away, breathless. But Steve chased, his lips taking hers again until she turned her head away and he backed off. She panted, shifting to meet his eyes and Steve shuddered an exhale, his eyes half-open as he looked at her, his expression lost. 

“ _Please,_ ” he begged her. 

His single word, his desperate loneliness called to something deep within her that she thought she had buried long ago. She moved to touch him, her thumb tracing over his bottom lip and his mouth fell open with a broken little moan. It wasn’t a matter of want. He _needed_ this. Her hands came to frame his face and she closed the space between them to ease him into another kiss. It was slower this time, gentler, and his hand slipped from her back to brace himself as he leaned against her, pressing as close to her as he could. Her lips tested his, learning the fullness and the shape of him. He was sweet, his mouth gentle and hot on hers. Steve relaxed into the kiss, tension leaving his body as he began to let her touch him, began to register what that did to him.

Natasha wrapped her legs around him and squeezed and his answering little noise told her _this_ is what he wanted. To be held, to have a concrete, physical connection with someone. She pulled him closer, held onto him with everything she had and he pulled away to press his face into the crook of her neck with a sharp breath. Tears stung her eyes and she leaned into him, pressing a kiss onto his bare shoulder. 

“I’m right here,” she whispered. 

But Steve didn’t seem capable of answering. He clung to her, his breathing ragged and she moved to kiss his cheek, his brow, her fingers gently smoothing through his hair. He sagged in her arms, the fight going out of him, but Natasha held fast. She would carry him when he couldn’t face this alone anymore. She wrapped her arms under his, her hands coming to rest beneath his wings. She couldn’t give him anything else, but she could give him this— a sliver of solace, a full-bodied promise that he wasn’t alone, that she wasn’t going anywhere. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooo. 
> 
> It may come as no surprise that I like to read romance novels. This is my attempt at that, haha. 
> 
> More coming soon! These chapters are long and take me a while to finish the fine details (especially if there are kiss scenes!) Follow me on Twitter for updates (@YeetaNo).
> 
> ETA: Thank you to thirdsister for the cool banners! You can check out their ao3 profile here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirdsister/pseuds/thirdsister


	4. Tragedy

Natasha woke up alone, blinking in confusion as her brain struggled to remember where she was. A quick scan of the room around her told her she was still in Steve’s bedroom and she rolled over with a sigh, running her hand through her hair as she stared at the ceiling above her. The events of last night felt like a distant dream.

She wasn’t sure how long she held him like that last night, but her body had begun to ache from the effort of holding on so tightly. When Steve finally came back to his senses, he looked dazed, completely shell-shocked. She had gently moved him to his bed, taking him by the hand and guiding him to sit on the mattress, unsure of what else to do. When he took her hand, his touch was like a question, a brief tug that asked her for more. 

Natasha curled her hand into the sheets with a frown. She didn’t understand what had come over her anymore. It wasn’t guilt that drove her, it was something much, much more than that. She had stayed with him, pulling him close as he gathered her in his arms and settled back, careful not to move her from her place against his body. She shuddered to remember how he’d held her, how he’d just breathed and closed his eyes, lashes long and dark, expression thankful. The memory of that struck her to her marrow. 

He had been almost wild with need, but his gratitude, his silent thanks made her heart beat a little faster. That frightened her, to think of him as so starved for affection and touch. But what frightened her more was her own response to it. When had she become so soft?

Natasha loosed a shuddering breath and brushed her fingers over her lips to try and erase the memory of his kiss. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about it. Waking up alone told her that much. She sat up and swung her legs off the mattress to plant her feet on the floor. It had been a mistake, she knew, allowing herself to indulge in weakness. She had no idea what kind of state she would find him in today. Maybe he’d never speak to her again. She straightened, tilting her head from side to side to work any stiffness out of her neck. Could she blame him if he didn’t want to? Did she want him to? She sighed. It was better to keep this professional, she decided. 

Internally, she packed up all these feelings she had no idea what to do with and locked them away before leaving the room.

When she returned to her own room, JARVIS’s pleasant voice informed her that there was breakfast in the lounge. She hesitated, debating not going for a moment before she grabbed a clean sweatshirt and headed up to join her teammates. 

Tony didn’t disappoint. He had ordered in a huge spread of home-cooked food. Everything from eggs benedict to chicken and waffles was set out on the huge table in a mouth-watering display of indulgence. Clint and Thor had already made a good dent into the food and were currently enthusiastically trying to out-eat one another, Bruce was quietly sipping on his coffee, a muffin sat on a little plate in front of him, and Tony was talking to him, his words coming a mile a minute as he doused a stack of blueberry pancakes in maple syrup.

It was strange how domestic this all was. 

“Morning, Nat,” Clint offered between mouthfuls of scrambled eggs. 

Natasha nodded in greeting and grabbed some food for herself before taking a seat at the farthest end of the table. She was about halfway through her blini when Steve finally came into the room, a genial smile on his face. He had clearly come from the gym— his hair was damp with sweat, his eyes bright from the exercise. A towel was slung over his shoulders in an attempt to not come across as half-naked. His hands were still wrapped, a detail that Natasha didn’t miss. 

“Smells good,” he remarked, eyeing the breakfast spread Tony had laid out. 

“Best pancakes in New York,” Tony quipped, a smile on his face. 

“Not better than my Ma’s,” Steve said as he opened the fridge and grabbed a water bottle. Natasha tried to keep her eyes to herself, but she couldn’t help but watch the way he tipped his head back to drink, the curve of his throat, the bead of water that escaped his lip and skirted down his neck and onto his bare chest. Last night she had touched him, her brain reminded her. She knew how that body felt, how it flexed and shifted beneath her touch— powerful muscle housed under smooth, warm skin. He put the bottle back down, pursing his lips to capture any errant drops before he wiped his hand across his mouth. Last night, that mouth had been on hers. She bit her lip and looked away. 

“Best pancakes in New York from this century then,” Tony amended. 

Steve snorted and gave Tony a strange look, like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard. Taking a seat next to Thor, he helped himself to a huge stack that rivaled the thunder god’s. Thor chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder approvingly and Steve grinned, staring down at his food. 

There was a lull in the chatter where everyone just ate. Instead of relaxing her, the friendly atmosphere set her on edge. Natasha couldn’t take her eyes from Steve as he talked and laughed with his teammates. He looked almost… happy. She wasn’t sure what she had expected when she woke up this morning, but it wasn’t _this_.

After breakfast, Steve stood to clear his plate and Tony hopped down from his seat and sauntered over to the counter. 

“Listen, Bruce and I cooked up something for you,” he said, grabbing something from the drawer and tossing it toward him. Steve caught it and unfolded it to inspect it. It was a loose muscle shirt, the sides cut extra low with a racerback style backing that could accommodate his wings. Steve smiled and tugged it over his head. He adjusted his wings, pushing them out the low-cut sides of the shirt and then refolding them behind his back. The sides of his body were still visible, but it was better than going around shirtless all the time. Steve smoothed a hand down the front of the shirt with a grateful expression. 

“Thanks,” he said, looking back up at Tony. 

Tony waved him off, obviously uncomfortable with Steve’s genuine look of gratitude. “Forget it, Cap, it’s the least I could do.” 

Steve chuckled and clutched the hem of his shirt. “First my suit and now this,” he said thoughtfully. “You really oughta been a fashion designer, Howard.” 

Tony paused, his smile slipping from his face. The room went completely silent and Steve looked around with a little frown. He didn’t seem to understand why everyone had suddenly stopped. 

“Steve,” Tony said quietly. “I’m not Howard.” 

Steve stared at him, his brow furrowed like that was the strangest joke he’d ever heard. It was as if the air had left the room. Tony was pale, unable to meet Steve’s eyes. It took far longer than Natasha liked for him to come to the realization that he wasn’t looking at Howard Stark. He pursed his lips, ducking his head a little. “Sorry,” he finally said. “Slip of the tongue.”

It almost sounded convincing. “Are you seeing things, Steve?” Bruce asked quietly. 

“I’m fine,” Steve said. 

“Steve—” Bruce protested. 

“I said I’m fine,” he snapped. “I just… need some air.” 

Before anyone could argue, he slipped from the room. 

* * *

The team thought it best to give him space for a bit before figuring out what his condition was. Tony and Bruce immediately retreated to the labs to prep the testing rooms, Clint headed to the gym to stay out of the way, and Thor returned to his quarters to speak with his mother. 

Natasha paced the now-empty lounge, ignoring the remains of breakfast. She knew Steve wanted to be alone— he always wanted to be alone. But after last night, after the way he had looked at her, the way he had held her so fiercely… She envisioned his pleading expression, how broken he sounded. _Please_ , he had said. He could barely ask her to touch him or stay with him. He couldn’t ask for help. Maybe he didn’t know how.

Determined, Natasha shot a look at the stairwell and headed over to the door. 

***

She found him on the rooftop, dark wings partially outstretched in stark contrast against the bright sky. His face turned upward, hair golden and beautiful in the sunlight. Natasha swallowed her heart and approached carefully.

He turned to see her and laughed, his expression bitter. “It’s always you, isn’t it Romanoff?”

She didn’t answer him, instead, she came to stand by his side. Troubled, he dropped his gaze and that was when she noticed he had taken his wraps off. Natasha’s lips parted in shock. The skin on his hands was scaly and jet black, spreading from his fingers, up the back of his hand, and onto his wrists. The beginnings of sharp black talons were pushing out of his nail beds, varying in length as they began to grow in. Small black feathers broke through the skin on his wrist and dotted up his forearm like painful welts. She tried not to let her shock show, but her breath hitched and Steve shifted his wing to hide his hand from her. He was getting worse.

“Steve—"

When she moved closer, his wing came between them, pushing her back. “Don’t touch me,” he hissed, eyes wide and bright with anger. “Don’t.”

She swallowed the pain that lanced through her heart. “Steve please,” she said. “I’m only trying to—”

“What? Help?” She pursed her lips and dropped her gaze to the ground. 

It felt like he was spiralling away from her, like they were drifting further and further apart. It spurred something deep inside her, made her want to hold on more tightly. “Can’t we talk about…” _last night._ She licked her lips and ignored the flush of heat creeping into her cheeks. What a fool, blushing like this. “About what’s happening with you? Your hands…”

He shifted uncomfortably, the bitter smile reappearing on his face. “My feet and legs too.” 

The admission struck her like a terrible blow. “There must be a way to break this,” she said, an edge of worry in her voice. “I want to help you, Steve. I want to try.”

“I don’t want your help. I never asked for it.”

She shrank back, collecting herself before she spoke again. Maybe she should’ve expected that response. “Then… can we at least talk about what happened last night?” 

He drew a sharp, irritated breath. “It was a mistake,” he said stiffly. “I never should’ve kissed you.” 

That stung. It shouldn’t, she knew, but it did. Natasha gave a sharp nod. “I… I shouldn’t have put you in that position,” she agreed. “I’m sorry.” 

She looked up at him, at his stony expression, noting the way the muscle in his face jumped when he clenched his jaw. It took him a moment to find his voice. “You don’t get it,” he said. “I never should’ve done that with you.”

She had the sense that they danced around a larger, deeper wound. _You,_ he kept saying. The problem wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to, it was that he had done it with her, specifically. Part of her was afraid to know why. Part of her was afraid she had ruined things between them. “Why not, Steve?” 

“Forget it,” he said, turning back toward the stairwell door. 

Anger bubbled up in her, hot and black and acidic. He was trying to push her away. “No!” She cried, marching after him. “I’m not going to forget it!” 

He flapped his wings in frustration. “I’m not doing this with you!” 

“Why not?!” she shouted. “Steve—” 

He whirled on her, expression twisted with rage, with sorrow. He looked wild, like an animal backed into a corner. “Because it’s not supposed to be you!” 

The words rang out between them like a shot. Natasha was breathless, shocked by his admission. He covered his mouth with his hand, like he wished he could put the words back in and bury that secret in his heart once more. 

Silence settled between them like a terrible weight. A sharp hurt lanced through her and she crossed her arms. It was hard not to take it personally that he felt this way about her. Steve was confused, compounding hurt on top of hurt. Maybe she was just making it worse.

“I hate it here,” he said quietly. He sounded tired and so, so angry. “I hate this place.” He laughed a little to admit it. He met her eyes when he spoke as though to punish her for pushing him to reveal this. “The other day, I thought Frigga was my mother,” he admitted. “I knew she couldn’t be, not really. But today when I saw Howard… Tony. All I could think was how much I missed my life. What I wouldn’t give to see my friends again. Nothing makes sense anymore. Six months ago, I was at war, I had a home, people I cared about, someone that I…” he trailed off, barely able to finish his sentence. He licked his lips and looked away. “Someone I was in love with. Someone I’m still in love with.” 

Natasha barely breathed as she listened. _It wasn’t supposed to be her_. She understood him now. He missed another woman. “Steve…” she said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

He laughed bitterly. “Yeah, we’re all sorry for something. I thought I was going to die. I should be dead, so why am I still here?” 

That one she did understand. When Clint had her in his crosshairs, she knew her time was up. She would die as she had lived, bloody and alone. She deserved to, she knew. But it never came. There were times when she had to wonder why— why was she spared? Why her, the least deserving among them? “I get it,” she said, moving to hug her arms across her body.

Incensed, Steve took a step toward her. “No, you don’t!” he accused. His outburst made her jump. “You don’t understand a goddamn thing! None of you do! Everyone who ever knew anything about me is gone. My life was ripped from me and I’ll never get it back! I’m _stuck_ here.” He clutched his shirt, his wings coming untucked from his back. “I can’t go home, Natasha! So forgive me if I don’t want to talk to you, or a therapist, or anyone else! None of this is mine. None of this will _ever_ be mine. I don’t want to move on, I don’t want to let anyone in!”

She hugged herself a little tighter, her fingers digging painfully into her sides to keep herself from breaking. She understood what it meant to keep people at arm’s length. When she got out of the Red Room’s clutches, she promised herself she’d never be happy, she’d never let anyone pry into her heart or pick up the broken pieces. She would make amends any way she could, but moving on? She wanted to keep this inside, always. She would die with this pain.

“Steve,” she said softly, a sad little smile pulling at her lips. “I get it.”

For a moment, he seemed to doubt her. What could she possibly know of this pain? But his doubt melted into a kind of understanding when he looked at her. A short little laugh broke from him as he wrapped his arms around his middle. He looked small somehow, desperate and alone. 

He covered his mouth with his hand again, his eyes swimming with bitter tears. “I…” he managed. His voice was broken. “I didn’t mean…” 

She closed the distance between them and pulled him into a tight embrace. Steve shuddered a sob, his arms uncoiling from his middle to pull her closer and she laced her arms around his neck, her fingers smoothing through his short hair. It was as if he shattered apart in her arms. He crumpled, his face burrowed against her neck, his large body leaning hard on hers. Natasha closed her eyes and held on tight, unable to offer him anything else. She wondered if he allowed himself to cry after he woke up seventy years in the future. Did he let himself grieve? Could a person even process something like that?

Steve’s wings shifted, opening up and then furling around her to pull her against his body. They were soft against her arms, but she hated what they meant. She imagined each dark feather as an individual regret, as a manifestation of all the pain, all suffering, and heartbreak that he kept locked inside him. She buried her face against his chest and held him a little tighter. 

A low noise came from him and he squeezed her in return. This was the same need, the same crushing loneliness that had consumed him last night. Did it eat him alive every day as it did her? She swallowed hard and pushed that thought aside. 

He clung to her for a long time before he spoke. “Sorry for this,” he mumbled into her hair. “And for the time before.”

She drew a breath, putting those emotions back in the places she kept buried in her heart. When she spoke, she was nothing but professional. “It’s alright, Steve.”

He was quiet for a moment, his hands unwound from her shirt to hold her waist as he pulled away. Natasha looked up at him, her hands slipping to rest on his chest. He was hesitant, shy when he met her eyes. “Nobody’s… ever touched me like this,” he said. 

A tiny smile pulled at the corner of her lips and a faint pink flushed into his cheeks. It was generous of him to admit that. Maybe she could afford him some honesty, too. “Me neither,” Natasha admitted with a shrug. 

He stared, and she could feel the disbelief radiate from him. She swallowed hard and kept her gaze elsewhere. “No relationships in the Red Room,” she elaborated, then made herself smile. “No hugs either.” 

Steve dropped his gaze with a nod. He had likely read her file, she knew. Fury had provided it to him when he recruited him to the Avengers Initiative. But if he had read it, he never let on and she was grateful for that. She never wanted him to think less of her. Instead, she plastered a smile on her face and met his eyes once more. They were so beautiful. It was the first thing she noticed about him— deep earnest blue framed by thick lashes. 

“It’s alright to want this,” she told him, her eyes drifting back down to where her hands pressed his chest. She could feel his heart beating beneath her palm. “We need this, sometimes. Touch, connection.”

Steve paused, searching her for a moment and she hoped that she hid her thoughts well enough that he couldn’t see the truth. Last night she wasn’t being entirely selfless when she touched him or gave him the contact he so desperately wanted. She looked away, her guard up. She could feel the weight of his eyes, feel the way he calculated and parsed out the relevant information from their exchange. He was a brilliant tactician, but it felt different to have that used against her. 

“Connection,” he said, trailing his fingers down her back. Natasha shivered, her brow furrowing as she looked up to meet his eyes. “Is that what you need, too?”

It was a fair question, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer it. A woman like her— a student of the Red Room, a former assassin, a coldblooded killer— didn’t need it. She knew she didn’t. Suddenly defiant, she raised her chin up to watch him.

“What are you doing?” she asked, breathless. This felt like giving in, like he was conceding to something. She was the wrong person, he admitted, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want her. He was torn between times, she supposed. Torn between the here and now with her, and the past with the woman he was in love with. Was that what he was trying to make peace with?

He tilted his head a little, a sad smile on his face. “Natasha,” he said calmly, “do you want me to touch you?”

Her breath hitched as his fingers glided back up her spine. The answer to that frightened her. It felt like standing on a ledge, like she was teetering over a great chasm in her heart that she refused to look down into. Her fingers curled into his shirt, and she leaned into him, subconsciously looking for contact. The word rose up from the deepest part of her and lodged in her throat. _Yes._ She bit her lip hard to keep herself from speaking it.

It seemed like she had given him his answer. Those eyes pinned her in place, stole her breath away. “I never thanked you for last night,” he said. “You were there for me.”

Natasha swallowed hard, her eyes drifting to his mouth. “You don’t need to thank me.”

He drew closer, his nose brushing hers. When he spoke, his breath fanned across her lips and down her throat. Her lips parted softly, her words tangled on her tongue. “Yes,” he said, echoing her words from the other night back to her. “I think I do.”

Gently, his lips closed over hers and Natasha unraveled. She had forgotten what he felt like— his mouth was soft and warm, lips full and tender as they stroked over hers. A curl of desire snaked through her belly and she gripped his shirt, her lips parting under his as she leaned to his gentle kiss. He had seen it in her—he must have, her greatest weakness. It was just the same as his. She was hollow, lonely, desperate for touch. Part of her was angry that he had found her out like this, uncovered this chink in her defenses. She couldn’t do this. She _shouldn’t_ do this. She didn’t deserve this softness, she didn’t need it, she didn’t… 

Steve moved to brush her hair from her cheek. His mouth was inches from hers, his eyes fathomless, deep with something she could barely understand. “Go on,” he said against her lips. “Take it.”

She exhaled sharply. All her careful denial and self-restraint were lost. Her mouth found his, her hands grabbing, clinging, desperate, as she pulled him into a fierce kiss. Steve knew what she wanted. He knew her. Maybe he’d always known her. His body pressed closer, arms powerful and steadying. _Give me more,_ her mind pleaded. _Give me everything._ Her hands roamed across his chest until she came to the low cut sides of his shirt and she slipped her hands beneath the fabric, fingers curling into the dense muscle of his back, the downy feathers of his wings. Steve’s soft, hot sigh set her nerves alight. He gripped her closer, his kisses becoming deep, insistent, hungry.

She could scarcely breathe for wanting him. When had she become like this? When had this happened? It hardly mattered anymore. She licked into his mouth, savouring his trembling breath, the taste of him, the low, shuddering noise he made before his tongue curled to meet hers. It sent a jolt through her all the way down to her toes. They were colliding like atoms, each touch like a kinetic burst, a release of elemental energy, of deep, powerful need. 

Their breaths became one, frenzied panting as Steve suddenly broke away with a breathless little sound, his wings pressing her back to steady her as he crowded her backward. Her back hit the wall behind her, forcing a little gasp from her as his body came into hers, hips and chest pinning her, hands cradling her face, wings pressing her closer and closer as he leaned down and kissed her hard. This time, she melted. Her body became boneless, weightless in his arms. 

This was what she wanted, what she craved. Natasha sighed, pressing her calf against the back of his muscled leg, rubbing absently in search of friction, touch, _more_. He lowered his hand from her neck, palm hard and hot against her shoulder, then down the side of her breast, then her ribs, over her hip, until he hooked his fingers under her knee and hitched her leg around his waist. Natasha pressed into him, needing to feel him closer. His fingers brushed the back of her knee, lingering there as if marvelling at how soft her skin was. A strange sound, akin to a whimper slipped from her and he focused his attention there. _Like this?_ his fingers seemed to ask. 

Natasha broke free from his kiss with a gasp, baring the column of her throat to him in complete, breathless surrender. “ _Yes_ ,” She sighed. _Yes_. Her hands twined into his hair for purchase, making a silent plea that he would give her more. 

He listened, carefully dropping his head to skirt her jawline, breaths ragged. Every exhalation was wildfire, each inhalation an answering rush of cool ecstasy as he worked his way down the curve of her neck. He kissed her there, and Natasha whimpered, her body suddenly overwhelmed by sensation. In the back of her mind, she could sense that this was all for her. He meant to repay her, to thank her and give her what she so badly wanted. 

The thought broke open some hidden part of her, a kind of pain she had never let herself acknowledge. Steve placed a suckling kiss over her pulse, and she held him tighter. In the darkest corner of her heart, her terrible secret came unburied and began to leak out. Despite everything she’d done, she wanted so badly to be touched, to be _loved_. Tears sprang to her eyes and she opened them to stare at the stark blue above her. 

She wanted him to love her. 

Ashamed, Natasha bowed her head to hide her tears, but Steve found them and kissed them anyway. 

“Natasha,” he whispered against her cheek. It sounded like an apology. 

She squeezed her eyes shut. This didn’t have to mean anything, and she was a fool for allowing herself to make it personal. It wasn’t personal. None of this was personal. She refused to let it be. A little sob broke from her and she turned away to cover her mouth. Steve pulled her into him, his palm resting on the back of her head as he guided her into his shoulder. 

This felt like... goodbye. Panicked, Natasha shoved him away, and he stumbled back a step. She heaved a breath, willing it not to be true, but Steve couldn’t look at her. It felt like goodbye because it was. 

He had already told her he wasn’t going to move on, that he was in love with the possibilities that never were and would rather chase those than let them go. He had no intention of breaking this curse, not if it meant he had to open his carefully guarded heart. He kissed her because it was what she wanted, what she needed. He was returning a favour, salving her wounded soul the only way he knew she wanted. How could he know that she was falling in love with him?

Natasha stormed forward, hands curled into fists. “No,” she said, voice quavering. “Steve, don’t you dare.” 

He studied the ground, saying nothing and Natasha hit him, her first glancing off his chest. _No._ Her pleas dissolved into screams of rage, of anguish. She couldn’t save him, she couldn’t fix this. It was her fault, it should be her, but she wasn’t enough. So she screamed at him, at herself and Steve just stood there and took it. 

She had already lost him. His heart was frozen in 1945, and he was as unreachable now as the first day she had met him.

A crushing numbness overtook her and she suddenly stopped her outburst. She stopped screaming, she stopped her fists. She just stopped. 

“Natasha—” he sounded concerned. But she couldn’t bring herself to care anymore. She shouldn’t have put herself out there like this. She shouldn’t have opened her heart, it made her weak. She had allowed him to mollify her, to give her what she wanted instead of doing her job. Her eyes blurred with unshed tears. 

A strange noise came from behind her. She didn’t notice the sudden sharp, metallic taste until it was too late. A green bolt blasted Steve in the chest and he hit the ground hard. Shimmering bands bound him, tangled up his wings and limbs, weighed him down. Natasha whirled in time to see Enchantress— her face webbed with green veins, shards of amulet still embedded in her skin, her left eye turned milky grey— with a solid, shimmering bolt of green magic clutched in her hand. 

“I owe you,” she hissed before she struck. 

Pain exploded across Natasha’s skull. Her scream died, breathless in her throat as she hit the concrete. Black flies swarmed in her vision, something wet, hot, trickled down the back of her neck. Her palms scraped and scrabbled as she struggled to stand, but a kick to her stomach knocked the breath from her and she crumpled. 

Distantly, she could hear Steve screaming her name. His voice faded in and out before the crush of a boot heel against the back of her head made her blackout. 

“Amora!” 

The cry stirred her awake. That was Thor. 

“Look at me!” Enchantress cried, she sounded devastated. “Look what she did to me!” 

“Put her down!” Clint. 

Natasha faded in and out of consciousness. Something ran in streams down her back. It took her a moment to realize he meant _her_. Put her down. The wind blew against her back, cold and unfriendly. She was dangling, leaning too far over. It made her shiver. Enchantress’s grip on her kept her steady. 

To her right came a burst of black feathers and Steve’s furious scream as he burst out of his shimmering bonds. He sounded like an animal and Enchantress laughed. “Monster,” she called him. 

Natasha closed her eyes. “Put her down Amora,” Thor commanded. 

“Fine,” the Enchantress spat.

The sensation of weightlessness frightened her. Natasha opened her eyes to discover she was falling. Enchantress grew smaller and smaller as she passed by the windows of the Avengers’ Tower. Her vision swam in and out, her hair whipped past her cheeks. There was a strange peace in this, she felt. Only, she wished this wasn’t how it ended for her. 

She couldn’t feel afraid, her brain wouldn’t let her. So she closed her eyes and enjoyed the journey down instead. 

Her trip was interrupted when a pair of arms wrapped around her, pulling her close and she opened her eyes to stare confusedly at Steve. He cradled the back of her head, his arms holding her tightly as he pulled her against him and she could feel the race of his heart against her chest. In the reflection of the glass rushing past, she saw his wings unfurl and her breath caught. They were beautiful, lustrous black, and wide— wider than she’d imagined. Suddenly, her freefall turned into a dream. They were flying. He was flying. 

She turned her head to look at his wings, outstretched and dark against the bright sky, the sunlight catching the iridescent blue sheen of his feathers. She flagged in his arms, her eyes watering, her head throbbing as they soared above the city below. 

“Stay with me,” Steve’s voice wavered in her ear. 

She wanted to tell him that she would, that she wasn’t going to leave him alone. Even if he was ready to give up, she wasn’t going to let him. But she was too tired to hold on. 

“Natasha?” he sounded panicked this time. He shifted her to meet her eyes and looking at him felt like a strange, beautiful dream. His eyes were so blue, golden hair mussed by the wind. They were flying, she remembered. How like him that he used even the most painful parts of him to save others. Black dots leached into her periphery, and her vision blurred. _You’re amazing,_ she wanted to say. She wanted to laugh and cry all at once. _I don’t want to lose you._ He looked scared, his mouth moved, but there was no sound. 

Instead, her world faded into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uuuuugh this took forever to finish, but here you go! 
> 
> Thanks to Junoro for beta reading this chapter. The grand finale is coming soon! 
> 
> Follow me on Twitter @YeetaNo for updates.
> 
> ETA: Thank you to thirdsister for the cool banners! You can check out their ao3 profile here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirdsister/pseuds/thirdsister


	5. Together

The first thing Natasha became aware of was the sharp antiseptic smell that coated the back of her throat. She frowned and swallowed hard, her body heavy. Her head throbbed and her mouth was surely stuffed with cotton. For a moment she just breathed, letting awareness slowly come back to her. She couldn’t make herself open her eyes yet, instead taking in the sensation around her to try and ground herself in reality. 

There was something resting against her leg, she noticed. Her brow scrunched in concentration. Another solid object lay across her lap, her feet felt almost too warm, and there was something in her hand. Curious, her eyes slid open to take in the darkness of a recovery room. Moonbeams cut through the slatted curtains, casting hazy silver angles onto the floor. Dark black feathers were draped over her legs like a blanket. She followed the wing up to Steve, his face hidden under his other wing as he rested his head against her leg. His arm was stretched across her lap to hold her hand. 

Slowly she shut her eyes and moved her free hand to rest on the back of his head. Her fingers weakly pushed through his hair and his grip on her hand tightened in response. 

She could feel him shift as he turned his face to look at her. Her thumb weakly brushed his cheek and he nuzzled against her for a moment before he turned away. He’d been crying. Natasha’s brow furrowed, a lump forming in her throat.

“I’m sorry.” 

His voice sounded different, strained. For a moment, she was sure she’d imagined him speaking. She pressed her hand into his as hard as she could before she couldn’t stay awake any longer and fell back into a deep sleep.

* * *

It was evening when she woke again. The room was lighter, her vision fuzzy as she inhaled and blinked awake. This time, she was much clearer. Her head still ached, her tongue was still heavy in her mouth, but she could think. She quickly glanced around the empty room, taking in the stark white walls and pale green floor. A bouquet of flowers sat on the far windowsill, the colours a bright, cheerful pop in the otherwise sterile room. Steve was gone. Something about that set her on edge. It felt as though she was running out of time to help him. Natasha struggled and sat up, swinging her legs out of bed as she pulled off various monitors and sensors, struggling with the IV in her hand. This immediately drew the attention of the nursing staff, who she tried to wave off with insistent repetitions of “I’m okay.” 

She didn’t have time to sit around anymore and hospitals made her palms prickle. She hated the antiseptic smells, the sharp whites, and beeping and whirring. It was too close to her experiences in the Red Room. 

“Natasha.” At the sound of her name, she snapped her attention to Clint as he came into the room. She shrugged off a nurse and tried to get to her feet when Clint took her by the elbows and made her sit back down on the bed. She met his eyes, blinking away the fuzzy feeling that coated her brain. “Do you know where you are?” he asked.

“Больница,” she answered sharply, struggling in his grip. “I don’t have time for this. Let me go.”

“You’re at the Avenger’s Tower,” Clint said. 

She flinched as a nurse took her hand and gingerly took the IV out and replaced it with a bandage. At least she was at the tower and not somewhere else. “Good,” she said, willing herself to sound clear and alert. “I need to find—” 

“Nat, You’ve been unconscious for four days.” 

That information hit her like a freight train. Her breath caught in her throat. “No,” she said, sagging onto the bed. Where was Steve? He had held her hand last night, she remembered. He was here last night.

She glanced up when the other Avengers rushed into the room. Tony looked tired— dark circles ringed his eyes and his face was lined with salt and pepper scruff, Thor was subdued, quiet, and Bruce was eerily calm. They all looked relieved to see her awake. 

Her gaze flitted from face to face, searching for the one that wasn’t there. She strained forward. “Where is Steve?” 

Her four teammates exchanged worried, grim looks and Natasha’s heart sank to the floor. She searched each of them, imploring them for answers. 

“We thought you were dead, Romanoff,” Tony finally said. “You definitely looked…” he trailed off and drew a breath. “When we found you, Thor had to pry him off of you. I think it… broke something in him.” 

Natasha released a little breath and clenched her hands into her hospital gown to keep herself from fidgeting. “You still haven’t answered me,” she said. 

“He couldn’t be in the building while you were in surgery.” Came Clint’s stiff reply. “It was touch and go and his presence was knocking out the power of anything powered by electricity.”

“But he was here,” Natasha said softly. “The other night.” 

“No, three nights ago,” Bruce corrected. Her blood ran cold and she shook her head. Three nights ago… What kind of state would he be in now? The question paralyzed her, but she couldn’t let it show until she had her answers. She stared at Bruce, her heart hammering in her chest. He was never one to dance around a problem, especially when it was just a statement of facts. She was counting on his directness. 

“Where is he?”

Bruce pursed his lips and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You have to understand, Nat. He’s… a lot worse. The decline was rapid after you…” he looked for a delicate way to phrase it, but Natasha didn’t care. 

“Tell me.” 

The doctor sighed and met her eye at last. “He’s almost completely nonverbal. Stopped talking after the third day. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he just… can’t anymore.” 

A shocked sound slipped from her and she blinked hard. Fear rose in her, sharp and metallic. It sliced through the haze, propelled her forward. “I want to see him,” she said. 

“He might not recognize you,” Bruce said softly. “He doesn’t recognize any of us except Tony— well, he thinks he’s Howard now. We are sure that’s why he hasn’t tried to leave yet.”

She had failed him, somehow. She was too late. Natasha shoved those notions aside and got off the bed. “Where is he?!” 

Her teammates stepped toward her, hands raised as if trying to placate a wounded animal. She wanted to scream, she wanted to hurt someone. 

“On the roof, likely,” Thor interjected. “I will take you.” 

The nurses barely cleared her to leave, but Natasha was going to, one way or another. The rest of the Avengers returned to their respective places in the tower. Tony was convinced he must’ve missed something and Bruce was willing to go over the data with him one more time. They were still searching for a way to fix this. Clint left to call Laura, something he rarely did on active missions. 

Natasha dressed in silence, then followed Thor from the room and into the elevator. Her head pounded dully and she didn’t push him away when he steadied her with a hand on her back. As they ascended to the roof, her heart was in her throat. They had outfitted Steve with a tracker in case he took off. According to Clint, he spent most of his time on the rooftop. From what they could guess, he liked the view of the city, the feel of the air beneath his wings. She fixed her eyes on the numbers showing what floor they were on. 

“You will be pleased to know that Amora and Skurge are in Asgard, facing justice.” Thor’s sudden declaration cut through the silence and Natasha did her best not to jump. She spared him a wry smile, which Thor returned. He was usually so sunny and chipper, but it was clear that he was upset. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Natasha said politely. Right now, she didn’t care about Enchantress. 

“It is inadequate, I’m afraid,” he said, turning his gaze to the floor. “The damage is already done.” He shook himself, putting on his best smile. “Steve will have a place in Asgard,” he suddenly declared. “I will see to it that he is cared for, that he is comfortable and safe—” 

He cut himself off abruptly, his eyes brimming with tears. Natasha’s lips parted in surprise. She didn’t know what to say.

Thor took a moment to collect himself, trying to reign in his emotions enough to speak. “This is all my fault.” He said, turning away. “Amora and Skurge were my responsibility, my problem to deal with. I never should’ve let it come to this.” 

Natasha just watched him for a moment. He was just the same as she was, shouldering the blame for what happened to Steve. Maybe it was how they all were— Tony and Bruce in the lab, Clint on his own, all of them wishing they had done more to stop this. It wasn’t just her. It was all of them. Who would they be without Steve? He was their leader, their friend. He had become as much a part of the team’s lives as he was hers. 

Hesitantly, Natasha leaned against Thor. He seemed surprised for a moment before he gently pulled her into a hug. His huge body dwarfed her, made her feel small. “I don’t want to lose him like this,” he admitted. 

Her eyes stung with tears and she weakly clung to his shirt. “Me neither,” she whispered. 

They stood in silence for a moment, leaning on one another until JARVIS’s voice pleasantly announced they had reached the rooftop and Natasha stepped away with an awkward smile as the doors slid open. Thor gave her a broken little smile, perhaps hoping that she might somehow be able to fix all of this. Natasha wasn’t so sure. She wasn’t even sure what she’d find. 

“I’ll leave you two in peace,” he said. 

She nodded gratefully and stepped out onto the rooftop without looking back. It was dusk now, the sky a fading wash of purples, pinks, and blazing reds. Overhead a few overeager stars peeked out, twinkling dimly. She inhaled, crossing her arms to combat the chill that blew across the rooftop, and scanned the rooftop in search of Steve, but he wasn’t there. Her heart sank. 

Maybe he’d left after all. 

She pursed her lips and blinked away the tears that threatened to come as she stepped closer to the edge to look at the skyline. Below her, the city glittered and shone. The sounds of traffic rushed up to meet her and she watched the buildings and cars below. He was gone. The thought filled her with terrible sadness and she closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the scramble of the city below. 

Behind her came a sudden gust of wind, a rush of feathers, then heavy footsteps until she was caught up in a tight embrace. Dark, feathery arms wrapped around her middle, and wings enfolded her body as Steve pressed into her from behind, burying his forehead against her shoulder.

A soft sob escaped from her as she leaned back into his embrace. Part of her was afraid that Bruce was right and he’d no longer recognize her, or that he just wouldn’t come back at all. Steve squeezed her a little tighter as if he couldn’t hold her close enough.

“Tasha,” he whispered. 

The sound of her name made tears spill down her cheeks. Despite everything, he still knew her, he had come back for her. “I’m okay,” she said, clutching his feathery arms. “I’m here.” 

He made a noise, his wings folding around her more tightly. He sounded like he was trying to speak, but nothing was coming out. He was upset, frustrated and she just held onto him. “It’s okay, Steve,” she said. 

He hummed, the sound vibrating through her as he nuzzled against her neck. She shut her eyes and just breathed with him for a moment. She could feel his heart beating against her back, his body warm and solid against hers, his breath gentle on her skin. He was here with her, but she was overwhelmed by the notion that she was losing him still. He couldn’t say what he was thinking, he could barely say anything anymore. Tomorrow would he know her? Would that be the day she lost him completely? 

Slowly, Natasha took his hands, her thumb tracing over his scaly skin, the softness of the feathers on the back of his hand. He let her go, shying away from her scrutiny. She turned to look at him, but Steve stopped her, gripping her shoulder to prevent her from turning around. His talons brushed her skin.

“Don’t… l-ook a— at me,” he rasped in stilted, laboured speech. 

A prickle of fear raced down her back and she gently pressed his hand. His grip softened and she fixed a smile on her face and turned to face him. Her heart stopped at the sight of him. 

Bruce hadn’t exaggerated at all, his decline had been rapid. Steve’s beautiful blue eyes were now completely black, what little skin showed on his face was ghostly white, and his lips were a strange greying pink. Feathers and dark scales dotted along his cheekbones, following the shape of his jawline. His blonde hair had turned black, the back of his head covered in downy feathers instead of hair. His body was more beast than man— taloned fingers and toes, every inch of him covered in black feathers. His gaze dropped, expression shamed. Natasha had never been so afraid. There was a sadness to him, a defeat that she couldn’t bear to see. Gone were his calm self-assuredness, his genial smile, and his confident nature. He looked nothing like himself, all traces of Steve Rogers were gone. 

“Steve,” she said, tears burning her eyes as she reached out to touch him, but he shied away, taking a step back. Natasha panicked. She grabbed his hand, not wanting him to leave, afraid that if he did, he’d be gone for good. Natasha made herself smile and took a step closer. “You saved me before. You were flying.” 

He shook his wings a little and she squeezed his hand. “Will you take me up again?” she asked. 

He considered her for a moment, black eyes gleaming before he looked away again. Without a word he pulled her close against him and took off with a powerful shake of his wings. Natasha held on as tightly as she could as the rooftop fell away. He was gentle, his grip on her steady and unbreakable. She felt safe with him, she realized. There was never any fear or doubt that he might drop her. She trusted him and always had. 

Steve took her higher and higher over the glittering city below until she could see the fading horizon in the distance. He kept them level there, showing her the skyline. The city glowed, hazy and golden beneath her feet, the spires of tall buildings were nothing to her now. In the distance, Brooklyn sprawled and glittered. Above her, the stars were brighter, closer. If she reached out, maybe she could touch them. Natasha turned back to look at him and smiled, breathless. He had taken her here to show her this. 

His black eyes glimmered in the distant lights of the city below and he gently brushed her hair from her cheek, and the caress of his talons on her skin made her shiver. Up here with him, she wasn’t alone. He saw her now, the most stripped-down version of her— fragile, broken, alone. That was him, too. They were both broken people, all jagged edges and invisible wounds. But in this moment, he looked at her like she wasn’t stained or broken. With him, she was a polished jewel, something precious. 

A strange warmth flooded her body at the notion. It was the pain of heartbreak, the sense of loss looking at the man before her and what he had become, but beneath that was a strong, simple notion. For all his broken pieces and jagged edges, she wouldn’t trade him for the world. Even if this was the end for him, even if he became more creature than man, she wouldn’t give up. She’d fight for him, always. 

The realization drew a burst of laughter from her, and her eyes watered with tears. Steve tilted his head slightly, his fingers still dipped into her hair. Hesitantly, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. In response he held her a little more tightly, his head resting on her shoulder briefly. She pulled away with a smile. 

“Thank you for showing me this,” she whispered. 

Steve smiled, a pleased noise came from the back of his throat. She made herself keep her smile to hide her breaking heart. Looking at him now, she was no longer sure how lucid he was anymore. The depth behind his eyes, the light that assured her he was still him was fading. She cupped his cheek, smoothing her thumb over the place she had kissed him, willing him to hold on just a little while longer. 

“Let’s go home,” she said.

Steve cocked his head, and for a moment, she was worried he didn’t understand. Then he adjusted his grip, careful to avoid jostling her too much and angled them downward. They soared over the city, above even the highest buildings. They flew over Manhattan, over the tangle of streets and buildings until they reached the East River. She recognized Brooklyn from above. 

He was taking her home. 

They landed gently on a beach on the edge of the borough, a secluded place far from the sandy shores of the more popular touristy areas. She had to wonder how he knew about this place. Was this where he used to come as a boy? A secret place to call his own? She looked up at him, but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking anymore. He held her close, staring back at Manhattan rising like a shimmering beacon in the distance. The depth had returned, awareness was back in his eyes. He looked peaceful, somehow. 

She knew he was trying to say goodbye to her, that all of this was his last farewell before he resigned himself to this curse. 

“I’ve decided,” she announced. He pulled his attention from the city to look at her and she lifted the corner of her lips into a gentle smile. “I’m not leaving you.” 

He frowned, eyes searching her for the joke that never came. She knew this was meant to be goodbye, but she wasn’t going to just accept that. It wasn’t over until it was over. “You’re an Avenger, Steve. You have a place here. Even if you can’t break this curse, it doesn’t change that. I’m not letting you go anywhere else. You belong here.” 

Steve blinked, a strange noise coming from his chest as he tried to muster speech. He looked so frustrated with her, but she didn’t care. “Na...sha,” he breathed. “S-top.” _I’ve already lost,_ he seemed to say. 

“No,” she said, curling her fingers into the feathers on his chest. “No. I won’t let you go through this by yourself. I’ve made up my mind. Even if you’re cursed, I won’t leave you.” 

He drew a breath. “Why?” 

“I love you, I think,” she said with a laugh before she covered her mouth with her hand. Tears spilled over her cheeks. “I’ve never been in love before.” 

Steve just stared at her in disbelief. Part of her knew it wasn’t enough to break this dark magic. She knew she wasn’t enough, but she couldn’t keep it in anymore either. 

“I… don’t un—derstand,” he said. 

Looking up into his dark eyes, she stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss on his lips. A soft noise came from the back of his throat, and she could feel the furrow of his brow before he leaned into her, hands gripping her arms. His kiss was gentle. There was a softness to it, a heartbreak, an apology. She pulled away with a breathless laugh to meet his confused expression. He looked at her like he couldn’t understand why she would do that. 

“You try and carry everything all on your own. But Steve, you don’t have to. I won’t let you, and the rest of the team won’t either. We’re not going to leave you alone, not now, not ever.”

He took a breath like he wanted to argue, his wings came outstretched, feathers spread like fingertips, but Natasha reached out and smoothed the feathers on his cheeks. He was breaking, she knew. Maybe this was only making this harder, but she wasn’t going to give up. 

“You’re not alone,” she told him. “You know that, don’t you? You’re not alone. Not anymore, Steve.” 

He searched her, studying her face, perhaps looking for the lie there. When he found none, he relented, leaning into her hand, his eyes fluttering shut. She pulled him into a gentle embrace and, hesitantly, he held her back.

When he exhaled, there was a rush of feathers. A shuddering gasp slipped from him, his body arching suddenly. It was like the takeoff of a thousand birds, a breathless rush, a burst of momentum and energy that made her pull him closer out of fear that something was wrong. Her hair whipped around her cheeks, and she ducked her head and peeked over his shoulder to find feather by feather, his wings were disappearing into a flurry of features that swirled and disappeared like smoke into the ether. 

Steve suddenly collapsed to his knees and she pulled away to watch as the feathers on his body began to lift away and disappear. He turned his face skyward, his arms resting by his sides, palms facing up as the darkness manifested on his body was finally released. 

He let go. 

When the last feather disappeared, he collapsed forward, shaking and weak and Natasha knelt at his side, her hand hovering over his back in disbelief. Beneath his skin, the impressions of feathers remained on his shoulders and back like faded tattoos. She struggled to comprehend what was happening. This seemed impossible. Hesitantly, she touched him, her palm smoothing over his bare skin. Steve came back to awareness, his breathing shaky. He sat back on his heels and lifted his palms to examine them. A laugh burst from him as he studied his shaking hands. He looked up at her, eyes endlessly blue, a boyish smile on his face. They both stared at each other for a breathless moment, his eyes welling with tears until they spilled over, and his smile faltered. 

She pulled him into her— or maybe he pulled her into him, she couldn’t be bothered to think which one it was, she just held him with everything she had. He pressed her closer, his breathing ragged as he clutched her like he’d never let her go. Natasha closed her eyes, the wind cold on her face, the sounds of distant traffic drifted over the river as she knelt with him in the sand, her fingers tracing the place his wings used to be on his back. 

“It’s always you, isn’t it, Romanoff?” Steve jokingly murmured into her hair. 

She laughed to hear those words again. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose it is.” 

He was speechless for a moment, fingers absently toying with the ends of her hair before he spoke again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything, for putting this all on you, for pushing you away, and…” he became shy for a moment, “and for kissing you like I did.” He swallowed hard, collecting himself. “I was scared of how much I wanted to. I was afraid of letting go of the past. I didn’t know that you felt…” 

He trailed off. He didn't know she loved him. She burrowed against him, hiding her face against his neck. “I didn’t either,” she said. “I didn’t want to admit it, at least. When you kissed me, I couldn’t hide it from myself anymore. I wanted you from the moment I first met you, the moment we first fought together and you trusted me.” 

Steve drew a little breath, perhaps surprised by her candidness. He exhaled tiredly. “I thought I knew what I was doing. I thought it’d be better if I just… disappeared. I thought nobody needed me here, that I didn’t belong, that I was a burden, and I… I think I just wanted to go home. I still do. Maybe I’ll always feel that way.”

Natasha threaded her fingers through his hair. “Sometimes we have to carry that with us, Steve. We carry those memories with us.”

He nodded. “I thought I had nothing left, that everything worth living for was in the past. But… that’s not true. I couldn’t see that. Maybe I didn’t want to.” 

She chuckled sadly. “I didn’t want to see it either,” she admitted. “But there are people who care. There are reasons to stay. I think I was afraid to accept that, too.” 

He pulled away to look at her, his hand cradling her cheek. “Thank you, Natasha,” he said, “for showing me that. You saved me.” 

She touched her forehead to his, her palm settling over his heart. For a moment, they stayed like that— together, connected. She might’ve stayed like that with him forever, but the light was fading, the city glowed brightly, and the world went on. It was she who pulled away first. 

“I should call the team,” she said, patting her pockets in search of her phone. “Share the good news.” 

He hummed in acknowledgment, and she could feel his eyes on her. Her cheeks flushed with heat before, gently, he nudged her chin up to look at him, and when he smiled, it was like the sun peeking through the clouds. Heat crept into her cheeks as Steve delicately swept his thumb over her lower lip. “I’d like to kiss you first,” he said shyly, his eyes flicking to hers. 

Her tongue tangled for a moment, and she was unable to form words. She clutched her phone tightly, before letting it slide back into her pocket. Her mouth tilted into a tiny smile. “Would you now?” she teased. 

He chuckled, and goosebumps raced across her skin. “Yes,” he said, his lips inches from hers, “I would.” 

She smiled, tilting her chin so her lips barely brushed his. Steve laughed and closed the space between them to press his lips to hers. 

It was chaste, warm, and sweet. This was the kiss she might’ve imagined from him rather than the darker, fevered kisses they’d shared before. 

Slowly, he tested her bottom lip, his mouth gentle on hers. Natasha unfurled. She leaned into him, her hands wandering to the back of his neck to toy with his hair as she kissed him slow and tenderly. He held her tightly to him, his fingers caressing her lower back and she sighed. This was what she had wanted, care and devotion, someone to give it to her. When his tongue traced the seam of her lips, she parted them with a soft sound, her eyes sliding open a hair. Hesitantly, his tongue slipped to meet hers and her body melted. She leaned into him in an eager reply, but he kept it slow and easy. She could kiss him like this forever, if only just to feel him. Here, with her. Hers.

But Steve pulled away to kiss her cheek, her temple. She clung to him, closing her eyes. He was gentle for her sake, she knew. Her pounding head and flagging body told her that much, but this slowness spoke of something deeper— he had nothing but time, he would stay, he would do this slowly. She smiled and leaned back to look at him. 

“Where did you learn to kiss like that?” she asked, breathless.

“From you,” he said sheepishly. When she frowned, he tapped his temple with a little smile. “Eidetic memory.” 

That made her laugh, really truly, laugh. Soon after, she called the team, gave them the good news. The curse was broken, Steve was alright. It felt good to say. Even better when Tony asked her to repeat it. It would take the team about ten minutes to pick them up and bring them home. 

Steve gathered her closer in the darkness, keeping the chill off as they watched the city in the distance. Natasha gratefully leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder as she settled between his legs in the sand. It was quiet for a moment, and she closed her eyes to allow herself to rest. 

“Natasha,” Steve said quietly. He sounded pensive, deep in thought. “I think I might love you too,” he said. 

Her cheeks flushed with heat and she nestled closer. “How do you know?” she asked. “When it’s love?” 

He was silent, his fingers absently tracing over her arms. “Truthfully, I don’t know,” he said. “But I know it feels right, telling you that.” 

She turned to look at him and smiled at the way his brow creased in concentration. “I’m willing to find out if you are.” 

He flashed her the biggest smile she’d ever seen him make. It made her heart flutter. He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Deal,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tadah! We've made it! 
> 
> You may notice a neat banner at the start of the chapter. Thank you to thirdsister for making a set of them for this fic! If you go back to previous chapters, you can see the rest of them. Check out thirdsister's ao3 account here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirdsister/pseuds/thirdsister
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, feel free to drop me a comment and let me know!


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